Why so serious?

They say that hard work never killed anyone. Guess they never had it this wrong before.

Heath Ledger wasn’t exactly the favorite actor of mine. Sure, he was magnificent in ‘Brokeback Mountain’ and I did have a teenage crush on Gabriel from ‘The Patriot’ but the favorite he was not. I have also never felt any ‘closer’ to a celebrity because the tabloids constantly update us on their lives and whereabouts. Their lives, just like the characters they play, have always been otherworldly and cinematic. After walking out of the cinema or closing the magazine, their memory lingers on for a while but eventually recedes to that part of your brain where useless information about strangers are stored.

What then struck me the most about his death? As always, we are deeply affected when things hit close to home. At this point we can only speculate that Ledger possibly overdosed on anti-anxiety/sleeping pills and that he undoubtedly suffered from exhaustion. I’m no stranger to such a scenario; come exam season many people often resort to sleeping pills and anti-anxiety pills to get them through. A very recent conversation I had with my friend sprung to mind when I heard about the actor’s demise.

A few days ago, post a very stressful exam, my friend and I were sitting in our Hall library trying to revise for the others. As is customary in century old Halls, the walls were flanked with portraits of members of old wardenry and I made a comment about how I would like to be in the place of an especially distinguished looking Warden. I only made the comment for I thought she exuded a certain sense of regality and haughtiness. To this my friend replied, “Yeah, dead!”. There was nothing funny about what she said and we both sat about for a minute or two imagining how amazing it would be to be dead. To be able to rest forever or to be able to go to bed stress-free and not have nightmares or just to be able to fall asleep. It was such a comforting thought. However, in about another minute’s time, we burst out laughing (much to the comfort of a poor fresher who was privy to our deeply disturbing conversation). In retrospect, it appears even more ludicrous and laughable to imagine that a bloody exam diet would cause such despair in us. But it did then. And we would’ve given anything in the world to feel happy and relaxed again. Luckily for us, this sorry state of affairs only lasted for two-three weeks or so. Now, I would imagine that Heath Ledger was under extreme duress for a much longer period of time. A film to him would have been just as important and life changing as certain exams are to us. I can’t even begin to imagine just how horrifying it would be to undergo such stress for an extended period of time. I don’t think I could’ve lasted for long, just like him. Most of us are only human, after all.

I sincerely hope his last sleep was restful and dreamless. And that as he slipped away, all he ever felt was peace and tranquility. He deserves that, after a long day’s work.

He would be sorely missed by his family, friends and by many film-goers. I might even revise my opinion about him as an actor. Friends whose opinion I value, speak highly of ‘I’m Not There’ and the trailers of ‘The Dark Knight’ look very promising, very dark.

Tragically enough, he has emerged to be the darkest knight of them all.

So very painful, this.

Guy : Maximising our utility from this meeting would result in…

Girl : FOCs?

Guy : Let me get our coats!

[P.S. May I remind you that it's unethical to groan at jokes conceived during revision! ]

I am Vertical – Sylvia Plath

But I would rather be horizontal.

I am not a tree with my root in the soil

Sucking up minerals and motherly love

So that each March I may gleam into leaf,

Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed

Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,

Unknowing I must soon unpetal.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal

And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,

And I want the one’s longevity and the other’s daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,

The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.

I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.

Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping

I must most perfectly resemble them–

Thoughts gone dim.

It is more natural to me, lying down.

Then the sky and I are in open conversation,

And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:

Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

One of my favorite Sylvia Plath poems. This, like most of her poems, is very self-referential and brilliantly portrays the poet’s inner turmoil. And, this is a poem with a  theme that echoes in all of us. The longing to be someone else or somewhere else is an experience that almost everyone goes through at some point of time in their lives. There’s also the mad hope that once the desired state has been attained, your existence would be meaningful and justifiable again. Could it be something worth dying for? Perhaps, yes. Therein lies Plath’s greatness.

Mad about (Ptasie) Mleczko!

‘Intelligent googling’, a word undoubtedly very popular amongst most Econ Analysis students this year, would inform you that Ptasie Mleczko literally translates to ‘Bird’s Milk’! Before your mind wanders off to unorthodox scenarios involving lactating avians and such, this is a kind of Polish confectionery made out of very milky marshmallow covered in milk chocolate. I can’t entirely be certain if it can be classified as marshmallow for it distinctly lacks the gelatinous chewiness of the standard issue one. PM’s (Ptasie Mleczko) ‘marshmallow-y’ interior is fluffy, almost spongy and melts in your mouth, while the thin chocolate covering just plays the role of a dutiful tease before relenting. I have also discovered that these qualities of the ‘marshmallow’ have proven to be the driving force behind the very puzzling name (Do Poles associate fluffiness, sponginess and meltability with bird milk? Must remember to take this matter up with Kamila sometime). All such etymological worries aside, the damn thing is phenomenal! They’re like nothing I’ve tasted before and by far, beat any other polish import. Perhaps, the main attraction could be that it evokes memories of candy from childhood. Simple and delightful; without all the fuss about fairtrade or the percentage of cocoa content or the country of origin of the damn beans. An innocent product.

Now, onto the main reason for this post. Kamila got me a box of PMs from Polska the other day (Monday, to be precise) and they’re disappearing at an alarming rate. Well, out of the initial 36, am left with 4 now! Resistance has been futile – they’re the first thing I reach for in the morning, I skip dessert at meals for them, I even dream about them in a Contract Theory class! Come to think of it, I’m even writing a post about them when I should really be preparing for my 9 am tutorial tomorrow. In short, am addicted. The waist-line protests, the seams burst and I couldn’t care less! It must be love.

[Not one of the posts am terribly proud of...the writing is just atrocious. But am gonna leave it on. Crime of passion and all that ]

Orange Crush

I’m at one of those wretched ‘turning point’ moments in my life right now. Gonna *gasp* graduate this summer, still mulling over career choices (NO, I don’t have an offer as yet! thanks for the concern) and trying the eliminativist approach to finally zero-in on one. Options under consideration this week were a) marry a decaying, old millionaire and hope he would be worm food in a few (6+) months b) be an obese prostitute catering to the very discerning, fat-fetish loving gentlemen and c) be a farmer. For reasons aesthetic, the former two were dismissed after many heated discussions with friends, which left me with well, farming. It didn’t seem like a bad option – join the home counties set, wear wellies/ comfy Barbour stuff all day long/go riding along the tiny brook at your estate etc. Hmm… a charming life. It’s almost like you never left St Andrews. BUT (how predictable, eh?) it obviously wasn’t meant to be.

Two weeks ago, my dear friend and neighbour Vera left me in charge of her orange tree. Now, tree/plant sitting or pet sitting is a double-edged sword, on the one hand you’re kicked because the owner trusts you enough to leave you their tree/plant/pet but on the other hand, you’re terrified because you know that they’re weighing you, measuring you for the possible role of a god mother or something similar in the future. But I thought this little tree should present no significant problems. And it didn’t. For one week. It shed an occasional leaf or two, and I thought it was quite normal. It was autumn, after all. So, I watered it, kept it by the window sill to soak up the sun and even starting calling it Ramsey (after my favorite Economist ). Second week. I notice that there is a considerable increase in the rate of leaf fall. I also realise that orange trees are NOT deciduous! Needless to say, I panicked. I watered it again and I kept it in direct sunlight. No improvement. Surprisingly enough, it hasn’t affected the fruits. There are still about a dozen of them. Not all hope is lost. However, it’s the end of the second week now and the tree looks a little, ermm, naked. I can no longer be passive and watch it sulk. Besides, I’ve grown quite fond of Ramsey. So, I went and bought the citrus feed and the gardening shop ladies assured me that it should improve the condition. But I’m not so sure. And I’m terrified to face Vera and explain the circumstances and see her crest-fallen face. I’m also worried that other friends who might have considered naming me as their children’s god mother would think twice about it! Or even worse, strike my name off the list! GULP!

Well, at least one good thing did emerge out of all this horticulture fiasco. We are all in concurrence that perhaps farming really isn’t my calling. I have been and will always be a city girl. Guess the choice now has to be between IBanking, Consulting, Accounting, Law, Advertising…ARGH!

I think I’m gonna go listen to some suicide music now.
Wait, I can’t.
What if it further upsets Ramsey!?
Talk about bad karma.

* Wanted to put a picture of Ramsey up. But later decided against it, on grounds of preserving the poor tree’s dignity.

Babajob – An Innovation Extraordinaire.

“Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought ” – Albert von Szent Gyorgy.

Very recently I came across an article which made me recall the Nobel laureate’s words. The article dealt with an internet innovation in India which aims to be a job portal for members of the lower socio-economic class viz. domestic helps, chauffeurs and so on, who normally lack the expertise or the education to even log on to a website. The portal is called Babajob and though am not an expert on Innovation Economics or Development Economics, this strikes me as an exemplary and ground-breaking innovation. I kicked myself and thought, “But, ofcourse! Why hadn’t anybody thought of it before?” Genius!

Now, anyone who grew up in Africa or Asia can ascertain the important role domestic helps/chauffeurs/gardeners/security guards play in their lives. It’s virtually impossible to find a middle class household in these continents which doesn’t employ some form of domestic help- unlike in Western Europe or North America, where this is the norm only if you happen to be reasonably wealthy. I’m not particularly sure about the case in South America but given the wide disparity in wealth and the descriptions of domestic life in Marquez’s novels, we can safely assume that life’s pretty cushy on the haciendas.

As an expatriate in various countries in Africa/Asia, my mother never had any difficulty in gathering her domestic entourage. You just simply inherited the former occupant’s/ colleague’s task force. This ensured that you always (well, mostly) ended up having maids who could understand some/a few phrases in English and saved you the trouble of describing a toast through sign language at 7 in the morning. In developed countries, you just simply approach a recruitment agency ofcourse. Thanks to such efficient systems, our mothers have ended up being exceptionally good card players (bridge was a perennial favorite) with enviable bargaining skills in foreign languages (thanks to hundreds of man hours spent scouring the local markets). It’s also difficult to find an expat woman who does not possess a good eye for spotting antiques.

Fast forward a few years and my mother finds herself moving, albeit semi-permanently, to India. And she couldn’t find a maid (atleast a trustworthy one who wouldn’t make away with her bling and who could make a half decent chicken curry)! Oh, the panic! An extensive maid-hunt was on, relatives far and near were alerted and old friends’ numbers were retrieved from an old, dusty address book. Well, to cut the long story short, it’s very very difficult to find a maid/gardener/chauffeur in India if you’re new to the place or have been away from the place for a while. You’re no longer an expat nor are there any reliable maid agencies as such. Even being an expat doesn’t help, I’ve heard of stories where British expats pay $800/mnth for nannies in Mumbai*!! (This is a country where an average graduate can expect a much lesser pay). As this was the case with a full time home-maker who had plenty of time on hand and who was also returning to her hometown, I can only imagine the horror newly re-located bankers/computer engineers must face!

This is where the new innovation saves the day. The severe lack of communication between the prospective employers & employees can be curtailed to a certain extent. This is especially the case in cities where majority of the employers lack a large social circuit, which plays a predominant role in the operation. Another issue that would be addressed is the one of artificial decrease in labour supply which tends to drive up the wages to exorbitant levels. This is a by-product of the lack of access to labour markets for low skilled workers that exists. In a country where a large proportion of the population goes hungry everyday, there must be a large ‘hidden’ supply of low skilled labour.This portal can provide an access to atleast a few hundreds of them. From a supplier’s point of view, by the guarantee that he/she has a higher chance of finding employment in a short period of time, there is hope for making consumption smoothing (to a certain extent) a reality. This guarantee also acts a social safety net (some sort of social insurance) which could yield enormous welfare gains for such individuals. All in all, a brilliant idea! One in which the social benefits clearly exceed the private benefits to the innovator. A policy maker’s dream come true.

I’m pretty sure that I’m failing to see many other aspects which make the innovation even more momentous within the Indian context as I’m not very well acquainted with the economic climate / public policy issues in the country. But from my rather myopic perspective, the reasons listed above are more than sufficient to grab the next stranger you meet on the street and say, “Holy crap! Isn’t this just amazing?” I can’t believe that I never even thought about it! Forget me, my mother who also happens to be an economist (well, she studied economics at university) and who embarked on a wild goose chase with a few of her friends (necessity being the mother and all that) failed to think of a way to come around the problem. And that is what makes this a truly fabulous innovation. One so obvious, yet none thought of it! Good Luck Mr. Blagsvedt and I wish you all the best!

* In fairness, the British expat was a nut case. No one else followed suit but still…she was seriously trying to mess up the system for the rest of them!

P.S. I also realised that the article appeared on Oct 10th, not so recent as I thought it was!