Chaos Ensues

A friend on a recent visit to Delhi pointed out that traffic and people flow through the streets here like water.  The teeming mass of cars, small and large, bicycles, rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, cows, goats, motorcycles and humans find their way to fill every possible niche the roadway has to offer.  Its amazing.  Sometimes, however, this leads to disastrous consequences.  Allow me to illustrate.

a) A simple railway crossing, two cars approach from opposite directions. The gate for the approaching train descends.  The cars kindly slow, stop, and patiently wait for the train to pass.

b) More cars approach as the train (this one happens to be either really, really long, or really, really slow passes). Cars in the back of the waiting line of cars, a little less patiently, decide that they might be able to squeeze ahead of the entire queue if they saddle up next to the front most car.

c) Cars even further back don't know what is causing the traffic, don't see traffic on the other side of the road, and decide to approach the intersection on the wrong side of the road, only to find that they too, have to patiently wait for the train to pass.

d) The train passes.  The gates rise, and the drivers are stuck, staring at each other, scratching their heads.

e) My favorite part: Chaos ensues.

(insert your own picture of chaos on the streets of India here)

Ah, and this was just with cars!  Imagine trucks, buses, cows, motorcycles and bikes thrown in the mix.  Real chaos!  Gotta love it.

(India) Pale Ale

Its not often that I've been called a snob.  The thought of even dawning the cape of 'beer snob' was even more unthinkable.  I have known a few self-proclaimed beer snobs in my day, and I can assure you, that I never thought I was one, nor did I think I ever could be.

However, I think everything, even being a snob, rests in context.

Here, in India, I have fallen prey to the lack of bitters, sours, darks, malts, porters, stouts, wheat beers and, well, generally, decent beer.  Options in most stores and bars involve Kingfisher Light, Kingfisher Strong, and recently, Kingfisher Blue (labeled with a fancy blue metallic sheen that proves its quality).  These beers are 'different' from each other, but primarily only in terms of alcohol content.  Higher end establishments will carry a few run of the mill 'premium' beers, like the Danish Carlsberg or lesser known Tuborg, the Dutch Heineken, the American Budweiser, the Australian Fosters - and on special pricey occasions, the Mexican Corona.  Taste the great beers of the world!  With that selection, its no wonder people stick to the Kingfisher!  There is something called a 'Godfather' and a 'Thunderbolt', but they fall into the same category as Kingfisher Strong; they feel more like malt liquor than anything else.  These cover 99.9% of the beer options available in India.  If you were to pour these beers into beautiful pint glasses and line them all up to each other, the would NOT look like this:

Yet, after a rant like that, how could I not be called a beer snob?  As many friends of past can affirm, with my affinity to PBR (before it became annoyingly hipsterish), and probably more relevant, my penchant to save money, forever relegated me to the legions of beer appreciators - but not beer snobs.

Yesterday, while I was delightfully enjoying a Kingfisher, a thought crossed my mind that at first got me curious, then a little riled up, and now mildly incensed.  Why can't I find India Pale Ale in India?

A friend always used to tell the story of England putting extra hops into beer to make the journey by ship from London to Bombay.  Turns out this is false, but that large quantities of the beer were shipped to India to satiate the thirst of the East India Company.  There are lots of left overs from British occupation, but this isn't one of them.  Fine, how about just Pale Ale then?  

On Parade!

There I was, sitting on a train, minding my own business.  I was admiring the passing Indian countryside between typing notes on my computer - taking advantage of the smooth, slow train ride to squeeze in some work time.  A young Indian teenager suddenly took the seat across from me.  He looks at me, and then looks at the newspaper he is holding.  Back to me.  Back to the paper.  Then he points at an article in the paper.  To be precise, this article:

'Foreigners join Republic Day Festivities'. 

Turns out it's pretty hard to be a foreigner in a small town and not attract quite a bit of attention.  Depending on the location in India, you are either unnoticed or bombarded with attention.  Such was the case the morning of Republic Day.  We got a special invite to join some local friends and watch a small town parade.  As we approached the parade grounds, tractors pulling floats filtered in from farms and side streets. 

We past the parking at the open air-stadium, and continued straight into the stadium; there were foreigners in the car!  The car pulled up right next to the floats.  We got out, and angry looks melted into inquisitive ones.  Dragged by the arm away from the floats, we went straight through the middle of the field.  Through the ranks of soldiers lined up in formation with guns, in full regalia.  The ranks parted, not with angry faces.  The soldiers all got out their cell phones and started taking pictures.  Some even posed with us! 

In a whirlwind, we had been through the ranks, introduced to this person and that, met journalists, and were suddenly, in the parade.  Behind the tractor with the education float, aside the girls riding bicycles in formation, we walked slowly around the stadium precisely once, starting after the soldiers also performed precisely one round of the stadium in front of the large, enthusiastic crowd.

Ah yes… on parade!

Mobiles vs. Toilets

To a Western audience, these headlines in a respected daily newspaper would turn heads and draw jeers.

“Woman rewarded for sparking ‘toilet revolution’ in her village”

“Half of Indian popln defecate in open, but more have mobile”

“Women want mobiles, not toilets, says Ramesh”

To many, they are the signs of impoverished nations, racing along a chaotic track of development. Perhaps. The headlines are even sensationalist to a certain degree here, in India (but here, that is why they get published in the newspaper in the first place.)

Upon closer inspection, outside of the sensationalism, I think they illustrate a momentous trend. Mobile cell phones are transforming lives.

Think back ten or fifteen years ago. Did you have one of the early model mobile phones? What did you use it for? Was it a supplement to your daily life? A new-fangled, must-have gadget? A leash for your spouse, parents or children? Or was it a lifeline, a symbol of your livelihood, a technology with the potential to transform your economic outlook.

To many in the Western world, cell phones complement our daily lives, bringing information to our finger tips, connectivity in remote places to our loved ones, and near constant connection to an interconnected world. In many developing countries, however, the potential is so much greater.

Yes, I can quote impressive numbers of mobile subscribers in India or the growth rate of mobile phone penetration. I can link to fancy graphs of mobile phone penetration per 100 people or a host of other hard stats, facts, and blurbs – but these astronomical numbers have a hard time conveying the reality on the ground. Mobile phones are changing the behavior of millions of people, something that non-profit organizations and NGOs have been trying to do for decades through health and education outreach.

Take the first article mentioned above, “Woman rewarded for sparking ‘toilet revolution’ in her village” published in the Hindustan Times on February 16, 2012. The first paragraph reads:

“A woman has been rewarded for her “bold” decision to leave her marital home within days of the wedding to protest the lack of a toilet in the household, an official said on Thursday. Anita Narre was handed $10,000 by Sulabh International, a non-profit group, for refusing to defecate in the open and sparking a “toilet revolution” in her village in central Madhya Pradesh, according to the district magistrate.”

This first article isn’t so much about mobile phones, but is here to set the scene. Extremely traditional values of marriage and the role of a wife are thrown to the wind as she protests at the lack of a toilet in the household. Often viewed as ‘dirty’ if they are inside a home, the majority of Indians relieve themselves almost at will, anywhere they see fit (its not uncommon, even in Delhi, for cars/scooter to pull off of the road, stop traffic, and go to the bathroom on the sidewalk.) But I digress… The barriers of sanitation and hygiene are tough to break – and sometimes its something so counter-cultural, like a wife’s bold decision to leave her husband over the matter that makes a bold enough statement to draw attention.

“Half of Indian popln defecate in open, but more have mobile” - Hindustan Times – March 14, 2012.

“Half the country’s population may not have a toilet at home but they are not without a mobile phone. Bringing to light this feature of the population, Census 2011 data on houses, household amenities and assets released today said 49.8 per cent Indian households defecate in open but in sharp contrast 63.2 per cent households own a telephone connection, 53.2 per cent of them a mobile. The data reflected the controversial remarks of Union Rural Development Minister Jairam Ramesh who said recently that women demand mobile phones but they are not demanding toilets.”

This headline may also be an eye opener – but only to Western eyes. To many in the developing world, this is a no brainer, as mobile phones are one of the first items a family invests disposible income in when they start to move up the economic ladder.

Jonathan Donner, a thought leader in the field at Microsoft Research, explains in a paper in much more detail and eloquence outlined here the power of a mobile for the developing world.

“The burst of connectivity in the developing world during the decade of 2001-2010 has made telecommunications accessible for half the world. This promises to change the configuration of people to each other and to the formal/global economy, which has excluded so many of them. It is going to do so in ways that are tied to social locations as much (if not more) as to economic transactions. Symbolically, blurring reflects and drives societal beliefs about the mobile. The telephone helped shape the economic landscape of the 20th century, reflecting and reinforcing some locations in economic and production networks, while excluding others. Widespread mobile use promises to reduce that exclusion. Yet, for individual users, the mobile it is not merely a symbol of economic development or productivity. Rather, it is one of self-expression, agency, and social connection as well.”

And to tie it all back to toilets, the last article in the Hindustan Times: “Women want mobiles, not toilets, says Ramesh”.

“Sanitation is a much more difficult issue (than telecommunication). Now we are talking of behavioural changes, and women demand mobile phones. They are not demanding toilets. That is the mindset we have.”

The article goes on to state, “Ramesh said that India is a land of paradoxes, as the country accounts for almost 60% of those relieving themselves in the open across the globe – at a time when it has 700 million mobile phones. “(There is) 60% of open defecation in a country which has 700 million mobile phones. ….We build toilets but the toilets are not used.”

I can assure you that those 700 million mobile subscriptions are being used.

Time flies when...

...when you're having fun, right? Or busy, very busy. The last few months seem to have flown by, as the pace and intensity of work has increased and eclipsed my ability to blog. I hope to remedy that soon. But that day is not today.

Instead, I want to link to a few blog posts from our Dimagi staff blog that show that our company is... um... different. I haven't worked too many places where the whole office self finances a trip to another country for a month to work there.

Failure? No. Success? Not as clear. In some ways, absolutely. For increased short term productivity? Not definitively. For increased long term satisfaction and happiness with the company? See for yourself.

The description:
http://www.dimagi.com/the-away-month/

And the outcome:
http://www.dimagi.com/dimagi-in-brazil-or-why-you-should-stop-worrying-and-learn-to-love-making-your-employees-lives-awesome/

45 Minutes in Nepal. A Saga.

It started early last week.  The project I'm currently working on is in a remote part of India.  So far, its been one challenge after the next.  Scheduling anything with the rural health workers has been near impossible, who all have a busy schedule and often overwhelming responsibilities.  All week, we attempted to plan for an all day training session on our mobile phone software for them as a job aid.  Due to a Polio vaccination campaign that lasts for a week every month - which was changed at the last minute - our only choice was last Friday.  

By late Tuesday, it appeared that we were successful in scheduling Friday with all the government players.  By Thursday, we discovered that Friday morning had been rescheduled for a common immunization day, and we would have to settle for Friday afternoon.  Friday morning, we discovered the immunization day was canceled, and the whole day was ours if we had planned ahead for it.  We arrive in the village at noon.  Since the immunization day was canceled, our workers are spread throughout the village, and it takes a coordinated effort of calls to track them down and encourage them to come for the training.  We start by 1245 - and things proceed smoothly.  Just after 2pm, however, we get a call from the health ministry instructing us to release half of the women from the training so that they can open bank accounts, the newest, highest priority of the day.  Such is life in India.

During the afternoon, as my colleagues salvaged the training with the remaining rural health workers, I stepped outside to do a little bit of work.  The limits of my Hindi were limiting how much I could actually contribute to the training.  Our driver came and sat next to me, cranking away on my laptop, watching my fingers dance away on the keyboard.  He asked for my passport picture.  People here are always asking for my picture, but I didn't have one on me.  Instead, I reminded him that his phone had a camera on it, and to use that instead.  He did, but clearly wanted a hard copy.  I thought nothing of it, as I then was encouraged to pose with the driver from our partner organization for another set of pictures.

After a long week, the team decided to head to Nepal for the day, with the hope of seeing a different land and perhaps a few mountains.  We arranged for the same driver we had been using all week for early Saturday morning, and headed north for Nepal.  After a quick 2-3 hour drive through a mix of scenic farmland and bustling towns, both with enough people, rickshaws, and cows on or along the 1.5 lane road to draw constant honking from the driver. (to warn them of our approach, around blind corners, to pass, to scare them out of the middle of the street - the horn here is annoyingly useful.)

At the border, we got out of the car and had a quick exchange with the border guards in Hindi.  We didn't catch all of it, but were able to proceed without further delay - no visa, or a stamp in the passport.  

The first thing that became obvious in Nepal, was the lack of our car horn.  As I looked around, the serene farmscape remained, but the plethora of people, animals, and things was reduced.  It was calming and peaceful.  We soon arrived at a large damn, where snow melt from the Himalaya is controlled for the farmland across the border in India.  Every few years, it floods and kills a number of people.  At this time, the water was extremely low, and we walked alongside on an elevated dike, into the misty morning, away from the road, and along the streambed.  Peaceful.  The dramatic drop in population density was overwelming.  

After about 45 minutes, we got back in the car to continue our adventure into Nepal.  This is where the story gets interesting, as our driver turns back towards India and crosses over the border.  We start asking what is going on, if there is a problem, and he mysteriously says no, that he is taking us to a market in Nepal where we have to go around in India for a bit, and that the car doesn't have the proper registration to go further into Nepal, hence the quick and painless border incident.  

Here is where the lack of Hindi is frustrating.  Our driver probably understands more English than he conveys, but doesn't speak it.  One coworker is an American of Indian descent and speaks Gujarati - a dialect from further South - and is our Hindi speaker.  Her Hindi is good, but not perfect.  The other coworker and myself are working on our language skills, but we are at about the level of a 3 year old.

Soon enough the car pauses and parks.  The driver says that the market is just on the other side of the border, and that we should walk.  Here again, we cross the border with no issues, and proceed to a run-down border town with a few shops.  Clearly no tourists come here.  Especially American ones.

We press the driver for more information, as the day is still early and our agenda of things to do in Nepal is still full, it is increasingly apparent that his own, separate agenda, is just about complete.  A crowd gathers as we (our female Indian colleague) talk to him about our options.  Crowds usually gather around us when we stand still for too long in this part of India, so we are unphased.  The driver, however, starts walking to ditch the crowd, and tells us that he doesn't have a driver's license, and that is why we can't go further into Nepal.

Right.  No driver's license.  From our hired driver. 

Granted, he looks a little young, and is not the most professional, but does a good job driving.  As the larger picture starts to come together, we walk back to the car and discuss our options.  Clearly our intended foray into Nepal is not going to happen.  The driver shows us his driver's license.  It was printed in 1989, is tattered and torn, and has a picture in it that is clearly not him.  The birthday printed on the license is 1978.  The driver is 19.  He pulls out his passport picture and places it over the other picture.  He explains that even though he could change the picture, he won't be able to change the birthday, or enough other information to make the fake legit.  If I give him my passport picture, however, we could quickly make a fake, and then switch spots for the brief instant across the border.

Uhuh.  Our hired driver wants my passport picture to make a fake driver's license of me so that we can cross into Nepal.

After brief consideration - we decide better.  We head back south to the town we are working in, deflated and frustrated.  Clearly this is why he asked for my passport picture yesterday, as we had inquired about the possibility of driving to Nepal over the weekend.

So I've been to Nepal.  It was peaceful and calming.  It was a fantastic 45 minutes.

Like a Sore Thumb

It took a lot of effort this morning to go for a run. First run in the rural village I will be for the next few weeks. It was a cold morning and my bed was quite warm. Most of all, it was overcoming the thought of sticking out like a sore thumb that was the hardest.

Intense curiosity, at a distance.

Like a zoo, except I'm the object of interest.

When I returned from my run, hot and sweaty, even though the temperature outside was still chilly, I paused to stretch outside of the hotel. I had passed a man standing on the street opposite the hotel, who incomprehensibly watched me approach, stop, and stretch. I looked up after a few minutes and realized he had turned, to face me, and continue watching my strange ways. I kept stretching. I could see him inch a few steps closer with each passing minute, but never getting too close - a cautious distance from a wild animal. The next time I looked up, a gathering of about 5 children had also stopped to watch, also at a safe distance.

I was still sweating, beads dripping down my face, pooling on the ground below. I wore running shorts, running shoes, and a long sleeve top. It was cold enough outside that there was probably steam rising from my head. The observers were covered from head to toe, ready for a winter storm. I finished stretching and greeted the crowd in Hindi... namaste.

As if the trance was broken, the man inched towards me and started speaking in broken English. He asked what I was doing here and for how long I would be in town. He works on a renewable energy powerplant in a nearby flood-stricken area.

I sometimes struggle with the stares and attention. Its not easy to stand out. It takes backbone and a cognizant effort to ignore the faces of passersby and pretend not to notice. Its not personal.

If a man with purple skin and a space suit walked down the street, I would probably stare too. Out of curiosity. Out of an interest in why he was here, in my town, and where he came from. And I would hope that I too, would have the guts to approach him and to ask him about himself.

The Innovative Indian

I don't have a personal hatred towards pennies.  They have never really done me any wrong.  I always get a little kick out of finding one on the ground.  However, I never have much use for them, and for that reason alone, I know a number of people who despise them.

I've noticed a few things in India, and one of them is how innovative things can be.  Take the penny for example.  In India, one US Dollar is approximately 50 Indian Rupees.  There are lots of small coins around, however in India, they can be worth something - depending on the person.

Recently in a coffee shop, when I went to pay, I was told that there were no 5 Rupee coins - the equivalent of about a Dime.  Slightly taken aback, I was handed a small, 10 piece packet of Orbitz gum instead.  The more I think about this - the more brilliant I think it is.  This company has taken what many consider a neglectable amount of money and have found a way to improve the value of it for all parties involved.  Although the majority of Indians would not consider 5 rupees worth anything, the type that would buy a cup of coffee in an establishment like this (100-300 INR for a cup of Joe, depending how fancy) would not.  

Instead of being given a piece of metal they would just as well cast on the street, they are instead being given a packet of gum - which after a cup of coffee, can be a welcome commodity.  A nice surprise, it is likely viewed to the customer to have more value than the 5 Rupee piece.  To the coffee company, the actual cost of the small packet of gum is likely less than 5 rupees.  In effect, they are making money by not giving out the full amount of change, and are probably making people happy about it.

Brilliant!

Or, I could be delusional, and that specific coffee shop might have run out of small change, and didn't want a lot of caffeinated, pissed off people running around town spreading rumors about the company for not having the foresight to carry enough small change.

Either way, Im caffeinated, I've got a little extra kick in my step AND my breath smells good!