a peculiar Sunday evening ... we're ladies; we do ladies' things

As is his wont on Sunday afternoons, Ajith arrived promptly at 4.45pm to take me to the English language mass at the Infant Jesus Church on the edge of the High Court precinct. We were treated to an American English mass today, courtesy of a visiting Bostonian priest, who offered us another variation on the pronunciation of "God", "body" and such, in what was an otherwise simple and moving experience.

Again, as is our wont after mass, Ajith took me for a "mini" shop, as we tried to find a nailbrush (I wash after every meal (and before every meal) of course, but I find that, no matter how hard I try to get those last crumbs and stains out of the fingernails, I'm not able to do so). Ajith expected it would be the case, and it was the case, that we weren't able to get such a "special lady's tool" at a mere supermarket, but I did pick up a few other bits and pieces (including the mossie zapper refills that are so necessary for dealing with the time between about 6pm and 8pm each evening).

As usual, I was in a calm and reflective mood after mass but my antennae were sent bristling by the furtive behaviour of the cashier who tried to give me Rs.119 instead of Rs.129, hoping I wouldn't notice. I quietly questioned the change and she immediately apologised for her "gaff". All she needed to do was give me the Rs.10 and I would be on my way, but it was turned into a saga which included an attempt to give me a new receipt with the Rs.10 deducted to match the amount in my hand. I stood my ground requesting and eventually demanding the correct change so that I could be on my way. What a fuss over 30c you might say, dear reader, and I guess it was. As I said to Ajith in the car, if you're going to try and "diddle" people, do it big! I gather though, if the cashier can manage Rs.10 here and Rs.5 there, it all adds up.

We then drove down the "ladies street" to the shop Ajith hoped was open, and it was. Here we entered the shop of carefully ordered "ladies items" (again, apparently men have no use for a nail brush). We found a nail brush easily with the shop assistant, who then went looking for another (presumably more expensive) and was "deaf" to my pleas that the one he had originally located was fine and I didn't need another (yes, all the shop assistants here in the ladies' shop were polite not unattractive young men ... go figure). Then it was would you like a hair brush, sir? One look at my photo will tell you how unnecessary one of those is, so I'm not sure whether he was looking for an additional sale or just taking the mickey (having a joke at my expense). Anyway, this was somewhat reminiscent of Little Britain and the "ladies", who do "ladies' things". A most peculiar evening, dear reader.

members of the Lamond "menagerie"

One of the joys of walking in the park is the opportunity to watch the squirrels flit about, as they look for the scraps left behind by the other denizens. They compete for those scraps with the crows, who are everywhere but, not surprisingly, spend time in and around the park feeding off the visitors.

The shots below show Syd and Cecily Squirrel (yeah, I know kitsch, but cute!) individually and together, along with Russell Crow(e) (yeah, I know, even worse), and Rusty with the family.





















I don't know whether the other folks who walk in the park find the squirrels as cute as me, dear reader, but I think they're a lot of fun to watch, and I'm glad I had the camera with me today to get these particular shots (I can get Rusty and his mates any time).

I also spent some time as I walked reflecting on the impermanence of life, after my travels yesterday. It was a reminder about the importance of recognising that life is not a dress rehearsal - this is what we're dealt and we get on with doing what we can with it. So later today, I will join Ajith at the English language mass down near the High Court building and then get on with the business of ensuring that, when our ad is shown in the Times of India tomorrow, people have a functioning website to visit as a result.

Saturday in the Park

well, Sunday actually, but who am I to spoil a song title?

With today being devoted to getting the website "right", I took the opportunity this morning to get another walk in the park down at Shubash Bose Park. Between obeying doctors orders and travelling to Phoenix last week, I hadn't been to the park for about a fortnight (Sulemain was sufficiently concerned to ring the School last week while I was away to find out what had happened to me, which was nice of him). I took the camera just in case and came away with some shots that are worth sharing, both of themselves, and for comparison with the early shots when I arrived.

In the snaps above, dear reader, you see the work in the park first when they were digging for the pipeline from the harbour to the oil distribution centre and today when they've (pretty much) filled in the hole. The three photos below give a sense of where the work in Yyattil Junction (cnr Hospital Road and Chittoor Road, where I live) has developed to. It's been 12 months since the work began, so I suppose there would come a point when the work would be done - that point seems to be being reached, but Jayaraj the auto man reckons another 12 months to go.

So things do happen in Kochi and development does take place, but just not at the pace that might be expected in other places.

In that regard, I had something of a bizarre conversation with Ajith and Raju over some employment conditions I was trying to come to terms with - "in station" and "out of station" refer to whether you're in the office/city or not, while "bata" allowance is our (the Australian) per diem. I found this like something out of a 19th century British East India company listing (which it probably was). It's right up there with the idea that "manager" is the senior term and "executive" is the title you give to a junior member of staff - well there you go.

life is what happens to you ....

..... while you're busy making other plans.

So said John Lennon in the song "Beautiful Boy" and yesterday was a very good example of it. Indeed the writing of this blog is a further example as I had written a couple of hundred words in this blog several hours ago and had moved onto other things before I discovered that my bon mots (or perhaps not so bon mots) had disappeared in the interim. So I re-present them here.

Yesterday, Saturday, was to be the "website" day, when we finalised all the aspects of our website ready to receive the flood of enquiries we anticipate in response to our Times of India ads and I arrived in the office ready and energised for the task. However, with the arrival of Raju and Subho, I was given the sad news of Jay's mother's passing, at the family home in Thrissur (this was not unexpected, but one is never ready to lose a parent).

As a mark of respect, and a want to offer our condolences to the family in person, as is Indian custom, we took a taxi to Thrissur, via the flower shop to purchase the wreaths that we were to lay with Mrs Kandampully's body. It was only necessary for us to stay a short time (only the close family would proceed to the final ceremony and cremation). With our respects paid and our condolences duly expressed, we headed back to Kochi, stooping briefly for a quick meal.

Kochi to Thrissur is a distance of about 73km (Sydney City to Springwood) and would have taken about two hours to navigate on Sydney roads. We were on Indian roads, however, and subject to the "discipline" of other Indian drivers. In consequence, we departed KiBS at 10.45 am and returned at 5.00pm, with not much left of the day to do the work we had originally planned. And so it is with life, also described by another John of my acquaintance (John Hoskin, the Uniting Church minister at Carlingford for a time), who said "Life is an experience like getting on the plane for Italy and arriving in Istanbul". I'm content with our decision to head to Thrissur - it was the right thing to do.

"spicy" is just another relative term, I guess

After another long day slaving over a hot website, I gratefully accepted Raju's and Subho's invitation to join them for dinner in the evening. I was conscious that Subho had been below par for much of the day, and he asked as we were leaving the office if it was possible to find "other than spicy food" in Kochi. I thought of Gokul and its vegetarian delights as the obvious choice, on the basis that you could as spicy or as bland as you like. Imagine my surprise though when we arrived and, in the process of ordering, Subho says "Ah, chilli gobi - just what I need". I know my tastebuds are pretty "spicy" for a westerner and so I wouldn't think too much of chilli gobi normally, but after Subho's performance earlier I confess to surprise. Even more surprised was I when he polished it off and was satisfied that it was nice and "bland" for his needs. I told him that he was about to become part of blog lore and this is me keeping that promise.

that poster!

You might recall dear reader that, in my blog before I headed off to Phoenix , I made reference to the CPI(M) local elections and congress being held over 9,10 and 11 November (in case you've forgotten, dear reader, the CPI(M) is the Communist Party of India (Marxist) and is the party currently in government in Kerala). I had also noted that, as a show of "power", the streets throughout Kochi had been festooned in streamers, banners, and posters, including one most incongruous one on the way out to the Lakeshore Hospital, with Gandhiji juxtaposed with Saddam Hussein and Yasser Arafat. As it happens, I was able to get a photo of said poster and I attach it herewith.

As I was taking the photos, I was approached by a local guy, Salim, who was keen to tell me how disgusted he was that the poster had even been conceived, no mind actually produced and erected. I have spoken to the Party Secretary and the Minister about this, he said. It is outrageous to group a man who never shed a single drop of blood (Gandhiji) with those terrorists and murderers (Arafat and Saddam), he continued.

The "explanation" he received was that they were grouped together to express an anti-American feeling. Salim remained unconvinced at the "logic" of this and was insistently apologetic. We know better than this, he added. Gandhiji should never be pictured with "them". I don't know whether his views were a reflection of the general populace (or indeed, whether they were even aware of the apparent incongruity of it all). At least there was someone with whom to share the rage.

what a difference a day makes .....

well 10 days really, but I think the continuing trail of song titles is worthy of maintaining. The first two photos you see here were taken day before I left for Phoenix, Arizona, for the Decision Sciences Institute (DSI) conference, and the morning after I returned (following a 43 hour door to door travelling time, from the time I left the hotel in Phoenix till the time I dropped my bags inside the front door of the apartment in Kochi).

It's good to know the work was continuing apace while I was away (not that my presence or absence does or should make any difference, but it's still good to know). The second photo shows the work that has taken place in the time I was away, while the first photo is part of the continuing chronicle on the Indian approach to OHS (occupational health & safety) on a building site. I can only look on and shake my head at sights such as the one above.

I had a much shorter travelling time to Phoenix (only 32 hours door to door) and arrived on the Thursday evening ready for a event filled four days. Friday was indeed a good day, out at the Arizona State University (ASU), presenting several workshops on "getting published" for Emerald Group Publishing to groups of doctoral students and early career researchers. The first of the sessions was recorded (audio and video) for a podcast and I'm looking forward to seeing the end result (Matt, the guy doing the recording, has a great reputation for the quality of his podcasts, but I constitute a test in terms of being made to look good (he said with an appropriate level of self-deprecation) so, if he can do so, he'll be the real star). The folks at ASU were a warm and hospitable lot and I had a thoroughly enjoyable time. I wish the same could be said of the DSI experience.

The first clue came when I arrived, and logged on to the conference website, having alerted the DSI folks a week earlier that, among other things, the University affiliation I had been given (Big Pond) was actually part of an old Australian email address, and found that nothing had been amended. When I registered in the afternoon after the great ASU experience, the day was spoiled by discovering that, not only was the "getting published" session I was supposed to be doing not listed in the hard copy of the conference program, I didn't even appear as a delegate (despite having registered back in September). I raised these issues with the conference chair, who was suitably apologetic, but, given that the conference pack was full of separate fliers advertising the "getting published" sessions run on behalf of the DSI's own publications, I couldn't help but think they didn't want the "competition". I wish they'd told me that earlier - we could have saved some money and me the sturm und angst of 75 hours worth of door-to-door travelling.

Anyway, despite the best efforts of the organisers, I still managed to attract 10 people to the session on Sunday afternoon (including three who I was pleased to present with Emerald awards for the quality of their publications in Emerald journals; their photos appear in this blog as well, with me in tow (see below) - now you can see why Matt will have his work cut out to produce a podcast that won't scare people (he said with another self-deprecating grin)). The folks who turned up were appreciative and interested and I remain appreciative of their enthusiasm and participation.

In the interim and on the Monday before I began the long journey back to Kochi, I was able to get on with a variety of tasks, including finishing off a book review for the Journal of Management History I had started in the plane on the way over, so the time wasn't a total waste conference wise. I also got to see some not unattractive sights out of my hotel room window (Arizona is basically a desert and Phoenix is a city built in the desert, lending itself to some unusual sights, but also some pretty ones). I've captured a couple of those sights in the following photos (this is a real memory hungry blog, eh Google?)

I see red, I see red, I see red

Split Enz had a song that started "When my baby's walking down the street, I see red, I see red, I see red". This has nothing to do with girlfriends and possessive boyfriends, but over the last week or so, it's been very hard to go anyway in Kochi and surrounds without "seeing red". The reason is the CPI(M) local elections and congress being held over 9,10 and 11 November (in case you've forgotten, dear reader, the CPI(M) is the Communist Party of India (Marxist) and is the party currently in government in Kerala). As a show of "power" and as a way of encouraging new members to join and existing members to cast their votes, the streets throughout Kochi have been festooned in streamers, banners, posters (including one most incongruous one on the way out to the Lakeshore Hospital, with Gandhiji juxtaposed with Saddam Hussein and Yasser Arafat - making no sense at all) and red flags with the hammer and sickle. It will be interesting to hear of the upshot of all these parades and displays and what it means for the state and I will keep you apprised of those insights, dear reader.

In the meantime, as I foreshadowed at the end of my last blog, it was off to the Backwaters today for the first time, with a visit to the Lakeside resort for lunch.

First photo is the view from the Lakeside Resort lakeside restaurant, where we filled up on great seafood - I started with a prawn and avocado salad and moved to the seafood grill, with a (yeah I know, naughty boy) chocolate mousse for desert. It was washed down with a fresh lime soda (salt) rather than anything red or white (the prices were outrageous, even after the exchange was taken into account - I wouldn't pay that much for Grange!). Still the view, the food and the company were great.

Second photo shows Shibana, Subha, Roshan and Freeda as we were waiting for our "free" tea and nibbles (banana fritters) at 4.00pm. Turns out the tea and fritters were indeed "free" for the resort residents, but for 'blow-ins' like us that was extra. We enjoyed the tea, fritters and a walk around the resort to its "Infinity Pool" and watched the houseboats arrive and depart, as they brought guests from other parts of the backwaters and dutifully transported them there as well. On the way out the door and back to the real world of Kochi, we took time to sit on the swing, where Shibana, Roshan and I are pictured in the third photo. All in all a delightful break from the otherwise full on activities of building a business school literally from the ground up.

The trip back, like the trip there (in one of the several 4X4s to which we have access) was a kaleidoscope of traffic madness, punctuated by horns blaring, the constant exercise of the "might is right" principle (buses > 4X4s > cars > autos > motorbikes > bicycles > pedestrians, absolutely at the bottom of the pile) and sights such as mum, dad, child and baby on bike. We got back to our respective homes in the dark and then it was off to the Imperial for just a chilli gobi and a couple of chappathi to see off the night hunger.

did you know there's 393 songs about sugar? (http://www.poemhunter.com/songs/sugar/page-50/)

I've just been communicating with a friend of 30 years on another of the net's pieces of social networking software and as I thought about my next blog concerning the prodding, poking and prescribing to which I was subjected at the hospital on Friday (see the earlier blog "as time goes by" dear reader, for the forward reference), it struck me that that exchange, or at least my side of it, would provide some useful insights at this point. First the hospital story and then the communication. And yes, there are nearly 400 songs about sugar, the title of any of which could have been the title for this blog, which is about my struggle with sugar.

I have been walking in the Subhash Park here in Kochi for about and hour just about every morning, and a great place it is to meet some of the city's finest citizens, as I have reported in some of my earlier missives. My purpose in doing so, combined with watching my diet (although I still watch the occasional packet of crisps also), is to be able to return to Australia in the future looking more like the guy I was 17 years ago when I started in management education (weighing in at 80kg, instead of the 122kg I had been as heavy as until the end of last year when I decided it was seriously time to do something about it). The good news here is that, standing on the scales at the hospital on Friday, I weighed in at 102kg! Only the other half to go now!

Anyway, it was last Monday in the shower after one such walk that I looked down (I can see my toes these days) and was horrified to be looking at the blackened nails of the second toes on each foot, combined with a rather nasty looking blood blister on the second toe of my left foot. I had been conscious of the "pins and needles" I have been experiencing for some time (the result of peripheral neuritis, a common subsequent pathology associated with diabetes) but was shocked to see the state of my feet at that moment. I had sought a referral to a podiatrist from my KIBS boss (who is also an ENT specialist) but he insisted I consult first with a physician and so it was that I finished up at the hospital on Friday morning, with Raju kindly shepherding me through the process.

I expected a quick (well as quick as you can be in India) inspection by the doctor and a recommendation to buy a better pair of joggers for the walk. Instead, my visit to the physician was only the beginning of what took up a fair chunk of the rest of the day. I should mention first that every part of the day was paid for, in advance of whatever procedure or consultation I was party to - very different to the consultation/procedure first then pay (persish the thought that you would actually be sent an account). Each of the payments is in brackets () in the relevant paragraph, so that you can play along. For the non-numerate among you, the total day's expenditure is provided at the end.

First, the physician an MRCP (Member of the Royal College of Physicians) who did his time in London, Glasgow and Edinburgh (INR200). An extremely thorough and precise man, who took a good detailed history and physical examination (my blood pressure continues to be a pleasing 120/80, a perfectly normal reading), his primary concern was not with my feet though. Rather it was my "obesity". Well, yes, I'm fat but even the Sydney doctors were far too polite to describe me in such a bald way. He concluded that, in addition to my "obesity" (which he listed as part of my diagnosis), it was likely I had peripheral neuropathy as consequence of my diabetes and he referred me to his colleague, a Diabetologist (no, I'm not making this up) located in the room next to him. He asked to be kept informed at each stage in the diagnostic and treatment process and "directed" that I should return to him so that we could properly address the underlying problem of the obesity (as he talked about this he poked and prodded my various chunks of fat around chest and stomach and explained that the equivalent amount of visceral fat was interfering with the good working of my organs; yes, yes, thanks, thanks - the truth hurts, I thought).

Second the Diabetologist (with a variety of letters after his name, including WHO (World Health Organisation) accreditation), who introduced himself as Johny (INR150). A cursory examination and it was time for a series of blood and urine tests (INR710, including payment for the disposable equipment used during the procedures - syringe and vacutte). A neuropathy assessment (INR110) and vascular assessment (INR165) completed the battery of tests at this point and it was off to lunch and back to the office for an hour or so as we waited for the various results to come back.

Returning to Johny at 4.00pm he concluded that yes, I have peripheral neuropathy (aka "diabetic foot"), for which there would be medicines and more tests. Note at this point that neither my physician or diabetologist sought further payment for the second consultations (unlike their Sydney equivalents, who like to be paid to tell you the results). So, on the basis that there is the neuropathy, with some fungal component he thought, and possibly some infection to be prevented, the prescription comprised Augmentin (broad spectrum antibiotic, 14 tabs @ INR37.87, being INR530.18), CA GLA-M capsules (Gamma Linoleic Acid with Methylcobalamin (VitB12), 14 capsules @ INR9.50, being INR 133), a tube of Metrogyl Gel (anti-fungal gel @ INR10.61) and Syscan (another anti fungal drug, 1 capsule @ INR41).

Next Wednesday morning at 8.30am, I am also lined up for a fasting blood sugar, a Doppler (ultra sonography) scan of both sets of leg arteries), a 2hr post-prandial (after food) blood glucose (at 10.30am, assuming I get some nosh at 8.30am). I will bring with me to the hospital a big container of my urine collected over the previous 24 hours (try and lug that round discretely!). These guys are determined to make sure that I am properly poked, prodded and prescribed.

Oh yes, for the numerically challenged among you, the bill so far is INR2235 (oh yeah, at the current exchange rate, that's $AUD62.20, or $US56.85, or GBP27.20, or Euro38.75)

And so to my side of the social networking conversation:

"I guess we have indeed been acquainted with each other without really "knowing" each other for a long time, although, in fairness to both of us, one doesn't go about the place saying 'Hi there, my name's David and I'm a diabetic'.

Type II diabetes was diagnosed about four years ago and for the first couple of years was less under control as I struggled with a variety of additional stressors at the time.

One of the reasons for choosing the veg option was related to my concern about the meat. So far my stable alimentary tract has affirmed the reasonableness of that decision (but with the consequences I've already described as far as the sugars are concerned). Generally, one is safe with both chicken and fish and so I am reintroducing these to the diet (I would love to eat salads, of course, but they're all washed in "the water" and that's the end of that - I have also been scrupulous in only drinking bottled water).

So yesterday I tucked into a chicken biryani for lunch and last night was chilli gobi (cauliflower) and chilli chicken, with chappathi - yum! I enjoyed being a carnivore again and, again, I think it highlights the good sense of everything in moderation. I'm off to Phoenix on Wednesday for the Decision Sciences Institute annual conference and a couple of days in Mumbai on the way back to Kochi, so will look for an opportunity to stock up on my allocation of salads during that time."

Off to the Kochi backwaters now! Pictures to follow in the next blog.

as Forrest Gump observed ... IT happens!

I certainly know that one of the reasons much of this week has disappeared in something of a time "sponge" is as a result of our efforts to readjust our IT operations. I hope the following does not get too arcane, dear reader, but just enough to give you a sense of what I have confronted.

As you may know, one can divide the various "bITs" of interacting with the internet through websites into, variously, domain registration, website hosting, website design and construction, website maintenance and development (a variation on the 'design and construction'). Each of these different bits can be done by a company or a combination of companies. Indeed the permutations are myriad. Our own website was designed by a company which also arranged the domain registration and hosting (with another company) on our behalf. This company had also been charged by us with the continuing maintenance and development of our site.

What we hadn't appreciated was that the company had interposed itself between us and the domain registration/hosting company, had constructed the website using non-html/php code, and had adopted a postmodern approach to its maintenance and development responsibilities (this means, dear reader, that the company defined reality, rather than there being anything objective - something had been done or not done because representatives said so, not on any empirical basis). We had reached the stage by the end of last week where this latter approach was sufficiently distracting (and frustrating) that we determined to detach from that company's reality and create our own. Deconstructing that reality was not as easy as we anticipated, however, mainly due to the first two actions of the company.

I had identified Servage as a good alternative reality in which we could exist on a more sustainable basis and set about the process of registering domains and beginning the migration process. At this point, I am reminded of the old adage "The best way to learn is to do it. But sometimes the lesson is, don't do it!". I had begun deconstructing without have constructed the alternative reality in the first place.

First we had to get accurate information about the actual hosting company and then the correct information to be able to access our own website (both the basic site and the database, hosted elsewhere, so we found out). This took several attempts and a visit to the company's offices to achieve. OK so now we've got the files (or so we thought, coz it turns out we didn't have the database files, but that's the next part of the story) and load them up to the Servage site (by this stage, I've got everyone running on emails from the new host and very pleased with myself) but bugger me if they won't "spark". Servage has a great customer service centre and the folks there calmly shepherded through the various stages of exasperation and triumph until the "crunch" - we're sorry, they say, your files are in ASP; we don't support ASP. ARRRRGGGHHH!

You may have heard that exclamation from me, dear reader, almost no matter where in the world you were at the time - more an existential, cri de coeur than an actual scream, but piercing nonetheless. With a great mate in Sydney (thanks Jen!) an ASP translation program was identified and, as we went to the next stage of the migration process, we confirmed that, while the structure files were written in ASP, much of the space taken up by our 65mb website comprised jpeg, doc, pdf and vid files. While there were several hundred files to deal with and a weekend of "cut ASP, paste ASP, translate to php, cut php, paste php, save file" to be had, the likelihood of getting the site back on the rails by Monday seemed doable (by this stage, I had learned the wonders of FTP, constructed and uploaded an "emergency" one page web site, and begun to come to terms with the labrynthine nature of what it is to be a webmeister).

Then the Good Lord smiled on me through one of his children in Calicut, whose boss had met one of my bosses in Dubai and offered to help. In a gentle email, he basically offered to relieve me of the whole translation process and contribute to a reconstruction of our website that will very much be a "new, improved" version, and still within our desired timeframe. So, I look forward to Monday and hope that the short break I will take tomorrow to visit the Kochi Backwaters with Freeda and one of her friends ( a Bollywood director, searching for possible film locations) will be both rejuvenating and occuring against a background of positive activity in other parts of Kerala. So I end this blog with the fervent prayer that IT will happen. :-)

as time goes by

Yes, a return to the song titles, but also a reflection on where the rest of this week has gone! When I sat in front of the laptop this (Saturday) evening and saw that my last entry was on Monday, I was given to wonder into which alternative universe the intervening four days have gone. I know that part of the answer is given by the joys of internet service providers who don't provide the services they promote, while another chunk (yesterday) was given over to most of the day spent at the Lakeshore Hospital, with each of Thursday and Friday night (and some continuation into this evening) peppered by the cacophony of Diwali fireworks. Each of these will be the subject of separate blogs, as a way of trying to break down the experience into meaningful chunks for you, dear reader. It will also give me some structure to work out an explanation for the disappearance of the rest of that time.

a matter of paise and rupees

Each morning when I leave my walk in the park now, it is my custom to cross the road and stop at the newstand for a copy of The Hindu, one of the well-written English newspapers in India, that provides a good local coverage of Kerala and Kochi, in addition to the national and international news. The paper costs 3 rupees and 25 paise (about 10 cents). With usually some rupee coins in my pocket, I leave the aging news man ("I am here 365 days, no holiday" he says with that infectious Keralan grin) the difference between the cost and 4 rupees. By no means a ransom (which would be offensive to this man who prides himself in the service he provides and the context in which he does so, carefully arranging the papers, magazines and books for the day) but more than a token (or button, at least), he accepts the "remainder" with grace and an appreciation that it is an acknowledgement of his service.

One day, I had only a 10 rupee note and, as he had just started, he could only give me change of 5 rupees. Don't worry, says I, I'll be here tomorrow. We can sort it out then. "Come tomorrow sir, I will give you the paper for free", he said with his cheeky grin. And so it was that the next day, I was handed my Hindu with due recognition, and a wiggle of the eyebrows that inquired "You don't want the change too, do you sir?"

Meanwhile at the Imperial, I have taken to leaving the rupee coins in the change from my payments for breakfast or dinner with whichever of the young lads brings the "parcel" to me. Prajid has been more conspicuously present since I started doing this, insisting that he be the server and bringer of the parcel. This evening, with chappatthi, chilli gobi and a couple of Anu Chocobars thrown in, the bill came to 64 rupees. I added a 5 rupee coin to the payment, which Prajid carefully spirited into his pocket even as he was handing over the rest of the money to the cashier. At this point, he became determined to provide what, in his mind, was exemplary service.

He went to the freezer and proceeded to open Chocobar packets and inspect each ice-cream inside closely, rejecting the ones that were not to his satisfaction, closing the lids that he had opened, and replacing them in the freezer. I'm sure he thought he was demonstrating his version of customer focus and it was not in my heart to tell him that he had broken every taboo of western service regarding food and its serving (at least he didn't stick his fingers in the boxese and draw the ice-creams out for a close-up inspection). I left the Imperial with the usual thanks and walked back to the apartment reflecting on a matter of rupees and paise.

going postal

In other countries, especially America, "going postal" is a humorous euphemism for going into a murderous rage (alright, so it might not be humorous to other postal workers, but you get the drift). In India, I think it means "going slowly to the point of distraction in a laborious effort to get things just right". Let me explain.

This is a story I've been meaning to jot down since the first time it happened about a week ago. It happened again a couple of days later and while the same delightful old codger was involved, it was clear he was acting under very detailed instructions.

Your man arrived a day over a week ago at about 6:20pm looking for David Lamond (which he pronounced correctly using the proper Scottish pronunciation, which I have now re-adopted since the overwhelming majority of Indians pronounce the name with the emphasis on the first syllable (lamb ond) rather than the Frenchified la mond, with the emphasis on the second syllyable ... but I digress).

In his hand he had a letter from the State Bank of India via "Speed Post" and "To be delivered to addressee or to his/her Authorised Representative only". He asked if I was "David Lamond" and I said yes. Identification please, he continued. And so I produced my NSW Driver's License, which has a picture of me on it. He hummed and hawed for a minute and then decided no, it was not good enough. India identification? No, I'm sorry, I'm an Australian citizen. I need identification I can trust. He then went to get the apartment complex watchman for the purpose. Meanwhile, I had realised, of course, that I'd just received my SBI bank account documents (hand delivered by the branch manager, who wants the School's business) and it included a passport sized photo of me.

When he arrived back at the apartment door, I was able to display this proudly to him. He then had to go through each word on the passbook and compare it with the details on the delivery document he had, then he did it again and, yes, three times proves it! Satisfied it was really me and that I wasn't impersonating the person in both photos, he asked for my signature, date and full name in block letters. Now, he handed over the letter. As he left, I closed the door and opened the envelope that contained this obviously very important letter. "Dear Valued Customer", began the form letter that welcomed the valued customer to the bank and its services. Nowhere on the document did it actually identify me!

Fast forward to the 2nd of November about 6:10pm and the doorbell brings me to the door and the same old fellow with a suspiciously familiar envelope in his hand. Yes, it was another letter from SBI, with the same instructions on the envelope about the addressee or his/her authorised representative. Hello, says I, another letter, eh? Well, you remember me from the other day don't you? But your man was not for turning - identification please. I have learned that there's no point in arguing with this kind of determination and so I produced (more quickly this time, in my practised way) the passbook and its passport photo, with a flourish. Obviously unimpressed by my theatrics, again my friend checked every word on the distribution sheet he was carrying the requisite three times, looked at me, looked at the photo, and again at me (I'm not sure whether he was trying to decide if there was a likeness or form some kind of aesthetic judgement, but it was a serious effort on his part). That done to his satisfaction, it was time to sign, date and list the full name, and only then would he part, grudgingly, with the letter in his care. As I waved him goodbye with thanks and a gentle closing of the door, I opened my second "speed post" envelope in less than a week. Personally addressed, this time, the letter was by way of advice that Kerry is indeed the nominated beneficiary for the account should anything happen to me and she needs to access the account.

So there you have, my experience of someone "going postal" in India. I hope that doesn't happen too often.

reflections on a month in India

After I had finished this contribution, I thought about a couple of more things, especially the absence of photos. This, then is a new start (the original starts with "Just left Ajith ..."). Just had to get the photo of one of the guys on a poster here - Peter Sellers lives! The next shot shows a whole new perspective on OHS as it is practised in India. Finally, and this goes to a comment at the bottom of the blog, here's me in the mundu.

Just left Ajith, who dropped me off at the apartment after mass at the Holy Infant Jesus church, and I'm feeling sufficiently peaceful and reflective to put together some thoughts on the last month. Today has offered a series of moments that serve as touchpoints in this regard, so I will use those occasions to punctuate the thoughts.

My habitual walk in the Sabash Park this morning was a passing parade of now familiar faces and a comment by one of the gentlemen I pass and smile at that "It is a tribute to you that you have made so many friends so quickly". I was quick to reply that it was a tribute to the people of Kochi, who are so friendly and welcoming. He made the observation as I was walking with Suleiman, who was regailing me with the importance of family and a woman who loves and respects (and serves) you. Suleiman divides his time between Kochi and Dubai on the basis of about 40-45 days in Kochi (with his Kerala wife and their two young children) and 15-20 days in Dubai with his first wife and their 6 adult children.

Ummer, Suleiman, Raj, Father, and many other nameless, but nonetheless warm and friendly, denizens of the park, have indeed made me feel welcome and I find the hour between about 7.15am and 8.15am an important anchoring point for the day. Regardless of what the day brings, it has always started off with a series of laps around the park, more or less philosophical discussion (although I should properly put that in " ") and a sense of physical well-being. The park is a sanctuary of sorts (not least because it was established as a garden), where much of the noise of M.G. Road is a goodly distance off. At the same time, depending on the day of the week, of the month (and presumably of the year), we are also exposed to a regular series of quite loud explosions emanating from the Hindu temple across the road.

Part of the reason why I have had no trouble developing an extended set of "nodding acquaintances" has been, I believe, my willingness to employ the head "wobble" as I encounter people (whether in the park or on the street). My head wobble is invariably returned with an acknowledging wobble and, often, a broad expanse of white teeth against the dusky skin of their owners. Whether it's the lady in the supermarket, the police officer standing point duty, or fellow pedestrians just curious about this white guy who's not a tourist (and clearly not a "son of the soil"), the head wobble is guaranteed to bring a positive response (I'm thankful to the author of Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts, for his engaging description of the multiple meanings of the wobble and its value as a point of contact between people; I will be interested to see what kind of job Johnny Depp and his colleagues make of the book in the upcoming movie).

On the way back from the walk, I was nearly brought undone several times by the "variability" of the footpath paving (my Indian friends find my use of the term very polite but also very telling about the state of infrastructure here in Kochi - they are much less reserved in describing it as "poor" and "terrible", having no doubt that the blame for the state of the infrastructure lies at the feet of the politicians at every level, who, according to them, are more interested in filling their own pockets than filling the holes in the road). I made it to the "eco mart" and picked up bananas (and a few less healthy snacks), along with some peanut butter (I haven't found a decent bakery yet, but when I do I'm looking forward to a good old peanut butter sandwich!)

By the time I got to the Imperial Restaurant to get breakfast, it was about 8.45am and I was able to get masala dosa. It's funny that, for the sake of about 15 minutes, I can or can't get my masala dosa in the morning - like McDonald's breakfast, it's from a certain time, to a certain time and, if that's what you want, then you'd better be there at the appointed time. I had the same experience at the megamart with the "checkout chicks" - you can come in before 8.30am and fossick to your heart's content, but don't think you can actually buy anything until the ladies take up their places at the tills at the appointed time, regardless of how long the queues become while people are waiting.

To get to the Imperial this morning, I had to wade through the pool that the road workers were making, pumping what seems to be an unending flow of water from below the surface of the road where they are ostensibly fixing the sewerage system. The road is now fully closed (up till now the road has been "closed" but if you're in a small car or auto, or you're on a bike/motorbike, you could negotiate the puddles and potholes to get from MG Road to Chittoor Road and return). While there is regular activity at the site, there appears to be little evidence of progress and the area looks more like an abandoned series of holes than an actively maintained work site. Sadly, there are many places like this in Kerala, and India generally. I once asked Jay if it was lack of resources or lack of will (or perhaps some combination of the two). I've seen places in China, for example, where a building has gotten so far and then no further work is carried out because the developers have run out of cash, and I wondered if it was the same in India. Jay chose option 3, especially where public works are concerned. He added that there is a sense of "near enough is good enough" that is reflected in the finishing of the works and I was taken back to the Australia of 30 and 40 years ago when there wasn't anything you couldn't "fix" with a 6-inch piece of fencing wire.

The rest of my day has been spend in front of the computer trying to finish up some aspects of websites, playing graphic designer, and a myriad other bits that mean that I don't get to put much of a dent in the 80 emails that I have active on gmail (and more on Outlook). It has been interspersed with hanging up some laundry, putting other laundry away, sweeping the tiled floors (which are lovely and cool, but are easily covered in dust) and several outbursts of almost hysterical scratching of the itches that appear to have no source, but must be the result of what can only be "stealth" mosquitoes and mites. I am generally happy in my own company and so, as long as the work is there to do (and my computer doesn't get overheated and go funny on me), I just get on with it. This has two parts to it.

One is the sheer amount of work involved in a start-up organisation of any kind (add the directors operating at a distance, and a new culture/language/town etc and the complexity goes up, just a tad). No matter how much I manage to get through, there's always more there to be done. I need to be very careful that I don't burn myself out before the job's done and do take time for myself (I can hear Kerry laughing from here, when I say that!). For example, Suleiman had invited me to join him at the Abad Plaza to go swimming today but I felt I had to "beg off" so that I could sort out some of these issues. I'm hoping that the sheer level of work and the deadlines will reduce (at the same time as the people resources increase).

The other is the matter of being happy in my own company. While that's true, the communication facilities that a laptop with a data card and programs like Skype, Messenger and facebook are absolutely critical for me not to feel alone in the world. The very existence of this blog is a means of communicating with myself, but also to give family, friends, colleagues and anyone else with an interest, a sense of my experiences here. I never knock back a skype call or a 'g'day' from someone on messenger, and I'm grateful that that kind of communication can be had and measured in nanoseconds rather than weeks, months and years. Earlier today I was responding to a friend's query about how much I had known about Indian culture before I arrived, because it seemed I had taken to being here, "like a duck to water". I include my reply at this point:

I've always been conscious of "culture" from the time we arrived in Australia and I understood that there were Pommie bastards, wogs, spicks, dagos, etc. I realised that, if I was being given shit for being a different kind of white guy, imagine what it would be like for someone who's really different. Having taught in Singapore, Malaysia, China, Hong Kong, and Sri Lanka over many years, as well as dealing with folks from different cultures in Sydney, I've tried to engage with each of the different cultures with which I've come in contact. Living in India is the next point in a series of successive approximations, from eating Indian. working with Indian colleagues and students, having an Indian sister-in-law (my brother Kevin is married to Natalie from Mumbai), visiting India on Emerald publishing work. So this little black duck does feel comfortable (apart from the mozzies which are continuing to give me buggery - one of the founders, who is also a medical doctor, has commented that I must be a "sweetie": someone the mozzies just love to chew on).

And so dear reader, these are some of my reflections on a month here in India. It's time to head over to the Imperial and see what delights await for dinner (methinks chappathi and tomato fry ... just for a change :-) )

a stand up lunch!

No I didn't mistype the title - it wasn't a "stand out" lunch; it really was a stand up lunch. Because of the hartal, our usual haunts (Fry's, Spencer's and so on) are all closed. There is, however, a small (space is the best way to describe it) space next to the International where, after paying for the correct coupons (one for rice and condiments, the other for the omelette), the food is brought to you in a "silver" tray and placed on the counter opposite where you are standing, and away you go, all fingers (only on the right hand of course) flying. A repeat dose of rice and condiments, with a different sauce and that's your lot - finish up and move on (all done in a pleasant unhurried style, with the usual broad Keralan smile).

A quick wash of the hand, in the car with Ajith (who arrived just as Raju and I were heading off to walk to lunch) and back to the School via a quick tour of where our new street signs are to be placed (Ajith has made an arrangement with the police (standard practice, like the local councils in NSW that allow companies to advertise in return for an illuminated street sign) for us to have a series of traffic/street signs in MG Road and Chittoor Road to point people in the right direction, traffic wise and, of course, MBA wise.

sounds of silence ....

The title of today's blog is not just a clever play on another song title but, indeed, an apt description of what I am surrounded by on this day of 'bandh' or 'hartal', called by the BJP political party here in Kerala to coincide with today's Founding Day Anniversary and the first visit of India's new President since she was appointed recently. The Kerala Online website (http://www.keralaonline.com/news/news.php?id=1433) reports as follows:

"Thiruvananthapuram, Thursday, 1 November: President Pratibha Patil will get a taste of hartals in god’s own country Kerala as she starts her official functions in the State today. The Kerala Chief Minister has appealed to the BJP to withdraw its hartal call, but the saffron party has decided to go ahead with the hartal.The BJP wants to, among other issues, protest against the formation of Salem railway division that will adversely affect the existing Palakkad division in Kerala. "The reasons for which the hartal was called was still relevant and as such there was no question of calling it off," party state president P K Krishnadas told reporters in Palakkad.
"Those demanding its withdrawal in view of the President's visit and state-formation day celebrations would have made timely intervention to secure the state's due interests," he said.
Essential services and pilgrims visiting Parumala church and Mannarassala temple had been exempted, he said. "

Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hartal) has the following entry:

Hartal (also hartaal) is a term in many Indian languages for strike action, used often during the Indian Independence Movement. It is mass protest often involving a total shutdown of workplaces, offices, shops, courts of law as a form of civil disobedience. In addition to being a general strike, it involves the voluntary closing of schools and places of business. It is a mode of appealing to the sympathies of a government to change an unpopular or unacceptable decision.[1]
Hartal was originally a Gujarati expression signifying the closing down of shops and warehouses with the object of realising a demand. MK Gandhi, the Indian national leader from Gujarat organised a series of anti-British general strikes which he called hartals, thereby institutionalizing it.

Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bandh) also has the following entry for bandh:

Bandh, originally a Hindi word meaning 'closed', is a form of protest used by political activists in some countries in South Asia like India and Nepal. During a Bandh, a large chunk of a community declares a general strike, usually lasting one day.

Often Bandh means that the community or political party declaring a Bandh expect general public to stay in their homes and strike work. Also all the shopkeepers are expected to keep their shops closed and the transport operators like buses and cabs are supposed to stay off the road and not carry any passengers. All this is expected to be voluntary, but in many instances people are terrorized into participating in a Bandh. There have been instances of large metro cities coming to a standstill.

Bandhs are powerful means for civil disobedience. Because of the huge impact that a Bandh has on the local community, it is much feared as a tool of protest.

Bandhs have been criticized because of the disruption of everyday life caused by them. The Supreme Court of India has banned bandhs in 1998,[1] but political parties still organize them. In 2004, the Supreme Court of India fined two political parties, BJP and Shiv Sena for organizing a bandh in Mumbai as a protest against bomb blasts in the city.[1] The state with the maximum Bandhs in India is West Bengal[2] where the average number of bandhs per year is 40-50 (ranging from a couple of hours to a maximum of 2 days per bandh).

A bandh is not the same as a Hartal, which simply means a strike: during a bandh, any business activity (and sometimes even traffic) in the area affected will be forcibly prevented by the strikers.

(I apologise, dear reader, if you're not used to reading citations in the midst of your blog, but academic habits die hard, I'm afraid, and I wouldn't feel right if I didn't provide you with proper references for the sources of additional material I use here).

Now it would appear that we are indeed experiencing hartal rather than bandh, although Jayaraj and his auto will not be seen today and Raju is coming at 9.30am on his bike to take me to the office.

The bottom line in all this is that I awoke this morning to a strange silence, with no traffic or people noises to be heard. The eeriness of this quiet was added to when one of the regular power outages in the apartment block occurred and then there was not even the "whm whm" of the ceiling fan or the humm of the fluorescent light to break the silence. They say that you get used to the noise around you such that it becomes so much, well, background noise, and it was with this sense that this morning's lack of that noise was so striking (err, excuse the pun, unintended, I assure you dear reader). The silence was broken subsequently by the grinding startup of the building's emergency generator and, with that now thankfully replaced by the return of the power and the usual "whm whm"/hum, there appears to be some return to normalcy, as the traffic noises begin to build up again outside.

More to say later but, for now, it's time for daily ablutions and getting ready to be picked up by Raju (can't be late!)