My First Encounter with Technology

Back in my childhood days the most technologically advanced gadget we had was a mechanical alarm clock. One could set the time one wanted to wake up and it would unfailingly ring the most infernal tone to make sure you did not miss your deadlines. The better and more expensive ones even had a snooze button that would allow you to steal a few more winks in bed. The black bakelite phone was a matter of pride in the neighbourhood. You could have one in your home only if your father was a government officer, or else there was a wait of five to ten years to get one; bribes or political connections could quicken the acquisition process to under a year. The wrist watch was a hand wound spring driven ornament that had to be attended to every morning by charging it, which meant twirling its tiny knob with some dexterity. The computer was a topic of childhood fantasies, an unseen device that could do your homework if only you could lay your hands on one.  

In those days of bliss, there came a technological disruption on my school campus. One of the teachers, known as Vasudevan Ji, got a digital watch for himself. Such watches were not available in India. Maybe he got one as a gift from a relative abroad, or just decided to squander away his three months’ salary in the grey market. But he did get one and what a sensation it caused in my boarding school campus of Netarhat, a faraway place in itself! The watch, as the whispers told us cost a whopping two thousand Rupees. Typical salary of a teacher would have been less than a thousand Rupees a month. But, Vasudevan Ji was clearly a gadget-lover of the times, or a nerd as one would describe such a person today. My wife doesn’t understand that my love for the latest iPad was schooled into me in childhood by such forward looking teachers; and it costs me just two weeks’ salary. Besides, an iPad also keeps time and sets alarms, same as Vasudevan Ji’s geeky watch. 

Well, the wildfire on the plateau of Netarhat also told us that the battery of the now famous wrist watch cost fifty-five Rupees and that it needed annual replacements! One could buy a new wrist watch for such an amount every year that would last a lifetime each. I am sure Vasudevan Ji must have soon realised that the watch that drained its battery in a year was also an annual drain on his meagre salary. All salaries were meagre those days. That just a few years later such watches could be purchased on the streets for fifty Rupees apiece must have come as a bigger shock to him. But, that technology beats you every time and makes your once-great possessions worthless in no time is a realisation that has dawned on the mankind only recently. 

Well, there were more surprises in store for us. During the annual athletics contest of the school, where teachers were the timekeepers in races, Vasudevan Ji decided that he would not use the stop watch from the physics lab. His watch had a timer too and it was accurate to a hundredth of a second. So, in the hundred metres sprint, when other timekeepers gave times of 13.4 and 11.8 seconds, Vasudevan Ji took our breath away with the second place of decimal, 12.69 seconds!  

Then we were told that the magical device on his wrist even had a light that could illuminate the watch face in total darkness. In an evening function, such as a play or a presentation on the epidiascope (more about that device, later), one would be lucky to find a seat next to Vasudevan Ji. One would ask, “What time is it now, Shriman Ji?” and he would flick his wrist, press a special button and say, “Twenty thirty-five twenty-two.” Well, we then also learnt that hours on the watch went beyond twelve and right up to twenty-four. Shriman Ji (we addressed our teacher thus) would oblige every time one asked the time even though each flash of light cost him probably an hour of battery life and brought the prospect of spending fifty-five Rupees closer. 

The digital watch of the early seventies was a bigger cultural and technological leap for me and my friends that those regularly peddled by Apple, Samsung, Tesla or Sony. It was pathbreaking.

---ooo---

The CD's Swan Song

Best Buy, one of the most powerful sellers of music CDs, has decided to stop selling them from July this year. Target too has decided to exit the CD business. Sales are already down to a tenth of fifteen year old figures. In a year or so streaming and downloaded music will be the main fare, mostly in compressed formats.

What will the puritans do? What happened to the assiduous set ups of hi-fi in homes and studios? What will they play on those gold plated component stereos? MP3s? Such blasphemy! Such upardonable impiety!

They say that vinyl is being resurrected. So is the T-Rex. Well, the comeback vinyl will last another couple of years what with new turntables requiring you to break a bank. The new generation , the millennials, never lived. They neither ever heard the purest of hi-fi sounds nor did they have the time to sit and rock in their lounge sofas while the finest sopranos personally sang into their ears.

Hi-fi is lost to humanity with a 128 bps mp3 streaming through earplugs stuck into ones ears, while one walks a busy street or rides a crowded metro, noise cancellation notwithstanding.

Go on, guys and gals! Live your compromise and call it itunes, while I tune up my hi-fi for my dwindling and scratchy LPs.

http://uproxx.com/music/best-buy-stop-selling-cds-2018/

बचपन की मूँगफली

बचपन के दिनों में चिनियाबादाम खाने के सामूहिक उपक्रम की यादें पीछा नहीं छोड़तीं। गली से गुज़रते मूँगफली वाले की हरकारे जैसी आवाज़ मानों हमारे अंदर ऊर्जा का संचार कर देती थी। दौड़कर माँ के पास पहुँचते। तबतक मॉं भी मूँगफली वाले की आवाज़ सुन चुकी होती थी। फिर जैसे हमारे मन की आवाज़ सुनकर बोलती - चिनियाबादाम चाहिये? हम बच्चे कुछ ऊँ-ऊँ करते, तबतक मॉं बीस पैसे निकाल कर बोलती - जाओ छटाँक भर ले लो! छटाँक, यानि एक सेर का सोलहवॉं हिस्सा, लगभग साठ ग्राम।

अब दौड़कर बाहर निकले और पुकारा, ऐ चिनियाबादाम! यहॉं आइये। चिनियाबादाम वाला आता और अपनी कॉंख में दबा सींकों से बना स्टैंड, जिसे बाद में हमने इंजीनियरिंग कॉलेज में दोषहीन हाईपरबोला के उदाहरण के रूप में पढ़ा, ज़मीन पर रखता और उसपर अपने सिर वाली टोकरी जमाता। फिर अपनी लकड़ी के डंडे वाला स्वनिर्मित तराज़ू निकालकर दिखाता, मानों कह रहा हो - देख लो बबुआ लोग, डंडी बिल्कुल सीधी है। फिर पूछता - केतना चाहीं? हम उतावली से बोलते - एक छटाँक, मानों कोई महँगी ख़रीदारी कर रहे हों 

फिर शुरु होती थी विक्रय की प्रक्रिया। मूँगफली वाला एक पत्थर का टुकड़ा एक पलड़े पर रखता, और हमेशा की तरह हम पूछते - ई क्या है? वह भी हमेशा की तरह मुस्कुराकर बोलता - छटाँक का बाट है! फिर दूसरे पलड़े पर मूँगफलियाँ रखी जाती और तराज़ू के पलड़े ऊपर-नीचे झूलते। इसी दौरान हम दो चार चिनियाबादाम उसकी टोकरी से निकाल कर गपक लेते। मूँगफली वाला उदारतापूर्वक हमारी लूट को नज़रअंदाज़ कर देता था, क्योंकि इसका समायोजन उसके पत्थर के छटाँक वाली बाट में पहले से ही किया हुआ होता था। बीस पैसे देकर पुराने अख़बार के मुड़े-कुचैले टुकड़े में मूँगफलियों को सहेजकर पकड़ते, फिर नमक की एक और पुड़िया मुफ़्त लेकर घर आते। चिनियाबादाम वाले के मसालेदार नमक का फ़ॉर्मूला मिल जाए तो पेटेंट कराकर मालामाल हो जाऊँ।

घर में छटाँक भर मूँगफली के चार बराबर हिस्से होते, तीन भाइयों के और एक माँ का। फिर माँ बोलती - मेरा मन नहीं है, तुमलोग ले लो। बड़ी मुश्किल से वह एक दो फलियॉं लेने को राज़ी होती। फिर शुरु होता मूँगफलियाँ खाने का कार्यक्रम! अब सोचकर आश्चर्य होता है कि सिर्फ़ साठ ग्राम चिनियाबादाम, वह भी तीन-चार हिस्सों में बँटी, कैसे एक पूरी दुपहरी काटने का संबल बन जाती थी। शायद हम धीरे-धीरे खाते थे, या खाते कम और गप्प ज़्यादा करते थे। मूँगफलियों के छिलके भी उसी काग़ज़ के टुकड़े पर डाले जाते थे। अत: कार्यक्रम के मध्याह्न के बाद मूँगफली के छिलकों के बीच साबुत मूँगफली ढूँढ कर निकालना भी एक दक्षता का काम बन जाता था। अब छिलकों के लिये भी कोई अलग काग़ज़ रखता है क्या? जैसे-जैसे छिलकों की तादाद बढ़ती, साबुत मूँगफली खोजना एक ऐड्वेंचर स्पोर्ट का रूप लेता जाता था, ऐसा रोमांचकारी, जैसे आजकल क "ग्रैंड थेफ्ट ऑटो" या "असेसिन्स क्रीड" भी नहीं। कुछ समय बाद जब बहुत टटोलने पर भी मूंगफलियॉं मिलनी बंद हो जातीं तब इतिश्री मान लेते थे।

कल एक ठेलेवाले से पावभर मूँगफली ख़रीदी, यह सोचकर कि छटाँक भर से क्या होगा। पचीस रुपये पाव। बचपन में पावभर ख़रीदते तो फिजूलखर्च कहलाते। पर शायद मॉं कुछ और ले लेती, मेरा मन नहीं है का बहाना न बनाती। हम पति-पत्नी ने मन भर खाया, उकता गये खाते-खाते। बहुत सारी बची है। आप आएँगे तो परोसेंगे, पुरानी यादों के साथ।

When Free Market is Not Good Enough

I am a supporter of free market and unrestricted competition. It delivers high quality products at low prices. However, there are areas, especially in the service sector, where, a strong regulator is required to ensure a fair deal to the customer. Anyone, who has had a child suffer in school, a dear one in a hospital or has been at the receiving end of an indifferent mobile phone service provider will agree with me. 

SCHOOL:

Once your child gets into that famous school, you cede all your rights to the school management. Whether the child is molested, bullied, taunted, becomes a drug addict or even murdered, the parent has no say whatsoever. Schools are managed by powerful trusts often run by politicians, big business or by ultra-sensitive missionaries. They are not answerable to anyone. The police often sides with them and your grievances are scorned even by other parents until it is their turn to suffer. You have to put up with incompetent teachers, humiliation of your child at their hands and pay up arbitrary fees and charges. Free competition in the market does not help since you just can't take your child to another school. Even if you could, there would be no guarantee that the other school would be any better.

HOSPITALS:

Arguments that hospitals are doing a noble business and that medicare is naturally expensive are hurled at you when you question their extortionist ways. Nobody, except the government, opens a hospital for charity. A hospital is a business just like a superstore or multiplex. Unfortunately, once a dear one of yours is admitted to a hospital and is tethered to life-support, you can't just shop around for a better or cheaper medicare service. Horror stories of extortion, insensitivity and incompetence apart, a hospital is a service provider that keeps you completely in the dark about the treatment of a patient. As to why eight hundred pairs of gloves were used on a non-surgery patient in just seven days, or how a bill of one lakh Rupees is added up for a four-hour intervention on a dengue patient are never explained. You pay up without question, or they wouldn't release the dead body.

The Medical Council of India is a closed society and a private club. There has seldom been any case of an incompetent or a callous doctor being delicensed in India. When the media or an aggrieved person questions the dubious ways of hospitals, arguments like "to err is human", "hospitals are not doing a charity" and surprisingly and simultaneously, "hospitals and doctors are doing a noble job" fly thick and fast.

If a person wants to withdraw his ailing relative and demands a discharge, all life support is immediately disconnected from the patient. The process of discharge starts after this, which may take half a day or more. Meanwhile, the patient goes into further distress. Such practices amount to blackmail and no free market can address this criminality. Only a tough regulator and quick legal action can discipline the recalcitrant in the long run.

The Delhi Govenment has ordered shutdown of a corporate hospital in a first of its kind action. Statements such as this step will lead to a shortage of hospital beds in the Capital and will raise health care costs are made with impunity. Sorry folks, we will bear with a temporary shortage. And, why should there be an increase in costs? Aren't hospitals doing a noble job and would, therefore, refrain from cashing in on this "opportunity"?

CARS (Or other expensive hardware):

Once you buy a car, you have no option, but to bear with the "authorised service centre" for years of poor service, unnecessary tinkering and even fleecing. Behind those swanky showrooms, hide the real face of free-market business, which treats you as a source of never-ending revenue.

REGULATION, CONSUMER PROTECTION AND LEGAL REDRESS:

A child or a patient is not a mobile phone number that can be "ported" to another service provider. On the contrary, even easy portability has failed to discipline indifferent mobile phone service providers in spite of a fiercely competitive market. Consumer courts have become regular legal arena, where complaints can remain unredressed for years through tiers of appellate courts. Intervention to help a sufferer may be needed in a matter of hours. Do we have a mechanism that can deliver that?

Call me Mister, Yo Salesman!

I got a call today from a call centre. The caller asked, "Am I speaking with Shubhranshu?"

I said, "No, you are speaking with Mister Shubhranshu."

The caller was stumped for a few moments, stuttered and said, "Of course, Mr. Shubhranshu." Then he went ahead with his monotone selling some insurance policy, or holiday plan or credit card. I don't remember what it was since I had switched off due to his rudeness in addressing me.

These call centre guys and gals are called "executives". Well, they are surely not trained or evolved like executives. I would expect an executive to call me Mister if he calls me in English, or a Ji, if in Hindi, or a Garu or a Moshai, if in Telugu or Bangla respectively. No, Mr. Executive, I am not your friend, nor I am a resident of the US. You may even have a newly acquired American accent drilled into you through some idiotic training plan. I may be a rustic dehati, but show me reverence that a customer deserves. 

You may have the best hotel discounts, the most comprehensive insurance policy or the greatest credit card with complementary lounge accesss at all airports in the world, but do address me with respect if you want to sell your wares.

Else, I am not interested. Don't bother to call me again. I have put you on the Call-me-Mister registry.