Ola and the market economy - it works!

I am an unabashed fan of the Ola revolution. As you know I am in Chennai, India, right now. If you are not from somewhere in India you probably don’t know what I mean. Well Ola is our local answer to Uber. If Uber is the forerunner then Ola is the copycat which has risked intellectual property infringement to rake it in. During the recent Chennai floods, Ola put its app to good use to advance its brand while also sponsoring rescue boats. Needless to say it is now ubiquitous and the first word out of the mouth of babes and dames on the move.

I am not an unabashed capitalist and yet I believe here is one instance where market forces have trumped all regulatory efforts. If you have even taken a ride in an auto in India over the past decade you will know what I mean. Let me back up a little more. When our parents grew older they gave up driving and then hired cars for when they needed them. These cars came with drivers and you had to pay a set amount for a minimum number of hours. So the tourist car was a worthy option if there were many stops but not to and from destinations. This was often hit or miss. I have had drivers who were drunk or who even snuck out to get sauced while waiting around for us! We were at their mercy. Taxis were a rare sight and did permanent damage to the back as they rode over potholes with no shock absorbers. So the other options were public buses or autos.

If we did not drive our parents’ cars we had to rely on these alternatives. Luckily for me, I have a generous sister whose car and driver were available to me most times so I am spoiled and it is on the odd occasion that I am left without options. With the overcrowding in ramshackle buses we had to reluctantly settle for the auto. Now what was so terrible about hitching a ride in an auto? For one, it was not the most comfortable given its centre of gravity is low and there is a risk of it turtling with the slightest provocation. But worse, auto drivers would never put on the meter and haggling with them resulted in immense tension and strain. You had to negotiate with at least 3 before one would agree on price. In addition, you could wait several minutes before one would agree to take you to your preferred destination. They wanted to take you to where they would rather be going!

On one visit back home I was told the government had introduced legislation that required autos to put on the meter. However, to my utmost chagrin I found that the meters were rigged so the fares escalated without rhyme or reason, or drivers simply flouted the rule giving me no option but to pay their asking price.

So what has changed with Ola? Well it is an App and I can get a mini cab, a share cab, an auto among others. Given drivers bid on rides and are required to cover a minimum number of rides per day, I get an instantaneous response to my request. I can track their progress and pay cash at the end of the ride. They actually put on the meter. You are asked not to tip. And ..drumroll …here is the reason why it works! You actually rate your ride at the end and submit it. And this rating shows up when a driver responds to your call. They have an incentive to maintain their autos (which are mostly new for now), to put on the meter, their best behaviour and not ask for a tip. I almost fainted today, when I got back exact change from the driver- I cannot remember when that ever happened! The cab and auto drivers like this system too since it takes out the guesswork for them, organises their day and guarantees them returns if their reflexes are quick and they put in their hours. It is all so civilised. Now I find reasons to go out just to ride the Ola.. Who would have thought?!

India's new smart phone generation

I have spent the day fruitfully (I think) showing my aunt, in Chennai, around her 6 month old smart phone. She has invested the princely sum of Rs.7000 on it. She has 3 other plain old unsmart mobile phones. Her ardent wish is to master this one to browse Google and Facebook, use Whatsapp to send and receive messages and make free overseas calls, to send and receive emails and book cabs through Ola or Uber. She is fascinated by her device and spends hours swiping it up and down. However, she is an octogenarian. Her body and mind are agile and sound but the logic of our digital devices and apps defy her. So she has to memorize the steps relating to opening apps and getting back to menus and her retention capacity is somewhat diminished. It's therefore frustrating I am sure but she persists undeterred trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result! But I love her curious mind, her fascination with this unknown wonder world and the mystique it holds for her right there in the palm of her hand - so I patiently walk her through the steps over and over again.

Everywhere she goes, she carries her phone and asks for help using the device. She is not alone. My mom and I giggle over stories of others who do the same! Even as she flashes it, she gets the indulgent " Do you need this at your age? Why did you not settle for something simpler? " A logical question. However, the answer is not straightforward I realize. It slowly dawns on me that it is not about using a smart phone at all. It is about not wanting to be left out of this virtual world that holds the younger generation captive and through which they communicate to the exclusion of all other modes. There is fear that not fitting in and using these channels means becoming even more irrelevant! I empathize. As I enter my fifties I hear from my daughter's generation that Facebook and other apps I use are passé. I have no time to enquire and fear being left in the dust! It could be me in her shoes soon! I love my aunt and her generation's youthful exuberance and courage embracing and tackling the complex world of smart phones and am determined to help at least one among them ease their anxiety over the use of their device by teaching her the little I know!

It was a night to remember

Last night, we welcomed several Syrian refugee families with a warm hug. Prior to their arrival, the energy at the airport was positive and expectant. The long hours of hard work were paying off finally. And yet there was no sign of any fatigue. Everyone walked with a spring in their step, with a lightness of gait, a new sense of freedom. And when the Prime Minister walked in looking much younger, fresher and joyful than most, he was greeted with loud cheers reserved for rock stars and sex symbols. He obliged with selfies and group hugs. He generously shared the limelight with the Sikh Minister of Defense a decorated veteran sporting a shaggy beard and turban, the Minister of Immigration, Refugees, Citizenship Canada and the Premier of Ontario. His security detail was well hidden, if it was even there. Greeting the refugees was more than a photo opp. There was just a culture of kindness and compassion that permeated the place and the people set up to greet them were as divergent as the world could offer all colours, religions, shapes and sizes. They were also unselfconscious, non hierarchichal and caring.

Over these past two weeks we have dealt with a most amazing, responsive, hard-working bunch of federal government employees. They have worked collaboratively with us to address minutia, while being uncompromising with respect to quality standards. At the airport, there was a Welcome Centre, complete with a play area for the kids arriving, lined with teddy bears for each one. There was a was resting area, food and drink and there were buses to take the newly arrived exhausted but elated group of refugees to hotels nearby. Our interpreters were booked to be everywhere, at the entry point, the welcome centre, the buses and the lodging sites. We had fifty of them all pumped up and eager to be part of history. Crowning moments were when they got their selfies with their superstar Prime Minister and interpreted for him as he interacted with the first families that arrived here on the Department of National Defence’s plane from Amman Jordan. Two short months ago, things would have been much different. Then there was a culture of fear and suspicion of everything foreign.

But last night the mood was best summed up by the Prime Minister when he spoke extempore from the heart and said:
"They step off the plane as refugees, but they walk out of this terminal as permanent residents of Canada with social insurance numbers, with health cards and with an opportunity to become full Canadians. This is something that we are able to do in this country because we define a Canadian not by a skin color or a language or a religion or a background, but by a shared set of values, aspirations, hopes and dreams that not just Canadians but people around the world share."

Yes a leader can made a difference and raise the morale of a nation. There will always be naysayers but I am not about to let them detract from yesterday’s jubilation. It was a night to remember!
Justin with Team MCIS Interpreter in the yellow vest at 1:00 am ! A proud moment...

Yoga and cultural appropriation?

http://www.thestar.com/news/gta/2015/11/23/campus-yoga-furor-stretches-around-globe.html


The aim of yoga is to obtain a broader and clearer perspective on the boundless nature of experience instead of being stuck in a limited material world. Yoga can be seen as a practice designed to achieve sustainable happiness through the realization of this true boundless nature (Feuerstein, 2008, 2011).

Why is this then the domain of any one culture? It is universal like prayer or chanting. The argument can be made that the practice has been commodified. However, yoga is not about postures or breathing – even a court in California recognised this when it said the founder of Bikram yoga had no copyright over his sequence of asanas.

In the truest sense yoga is not an end in itself. It may be the means to an end in a journey that is very personal. There is no guarantee of nirvana from a perfect pose and therefore no one holds the key to enlightenment through yoga.

The idea of property and ownership is rooted in the Western concept of individuality which runs contrary to the spirit of yoga which talks about the oneness of all in spirit. It must be accessible to all and yet it can be possessed by none. Yoga is about letting go and not holding on.

So when you bring in concepts like cultural appropriation, oppression and hierarchy you presuppose that the West can claim it, modify it and promote it as something that it discovered and which the East was not capable of doing on its own. That may make sense for those who do not practice yoga and who measure “success” and “visibility” in Western terms of profit making. However, success in the true yogic sense is the true opposite of that; it is to become egoless and to identify less with the material aspects of the world.

I believe the objection is more with the commodification of yoga (although in this instance with the University of Ottawa, it was a free class provided by a volunteer). However, yoga works and heals. So with anything that works you are going to have people exploiting it for a profitable purpose. But given yoga is a state of being and not of doing or becoming can it really be manipulated for gain by Western society? Well if it can, that’s not yoga any more. That’s just a bunch of exercises that deliver a temporary state of wellness but do nothing for our state of being.

To look at this issue another way, the result of treating the practice of yoga in the West as cultural appropriation would be completely absurd. Would this mean that only Indians can do yoga? Or that only some Indians can do it. Would we become prescriptive about what we can and cannot do? If we do then that too is not yoga anymore?

Mental Wellness

As several of us enter the dark days of winter and SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) lurks – I thought I would share some thoughts.
I am obsessed with mental health and wellness, especially combating depression, and therefore am a great proponent of Mindfulness Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT). In most societies people have to act like they have had the happy pill. We need to give ourselves permission to be sad. However, we also need to recognise that depression is not just sadness. It is despondency. If you have never walked in the shoes of someone with depression (and I have, early on in life) then you cannot know the feelings of anxiety, negativity, pessimism, lack of self- worth and hopelessness that comes over one. MBCT was something that I stumbled upon quite serendipitously when I suffered 30 years ago. It came to me through a most obscure source and I did not even know it was called that until several years later. I interpreted J.Krishnamurthy’s teachings (and if you have read them you wil know why I call them obscure!) which I absorbed through his books and in-person lectures, to mean just that. The phrase that stuck with great resonance was this, “the thought is not the thing described”. And just like that light bulbs went off in my head and I was able to separate perception from reality.

However, mere words can do nothing. Two derivative practices have endured for me. One, a discipline of noticing the filters through which I observe my actions, thoughts and feelings, clouded as they are by past experiences, learnt stereotypes and fear of the unknown. Two, facing all thoughts, feelings and sensations without trying to shut out those which evoke unpleasant bodily reactions – a churning in the pit of the stomach, tremor, racing pulse or dry mouth. I suffered through it all. Those initial years were tough. I needed the strength of my own conviction that this was the only way to live and I had to soldier on, one excruciating minute at a time. Thankfully today MBCT is a credible field gaining every day.

Simply defined MBCT “involves observing thoughts and emotions from moment to moment without judging or becoming caught up in them. During a practice session, when the mind wanders, the meditator ideally takes note of where it goes, and calmly returns to the moment at hand, perhaps focusing on breath, bodily sensations or a simple yoga move” (http://www.apa.org/monitor/2015/03/cover-mindfulness.aspx).

I have had several people speak to me about symptoms which could amount to depression. While I am not one for labelling anything, I think it can be liberating for an individual to know that their “sadness” is not a character flaw but possibly a physiological condition made worse by an unconducive environment (represented by life’s stressors). They can be proactive. We don’t still know what MBCT does to the structure of the brain and physiology but it does dramatically and pleasantly alter how we react to our experiences.

No reason - I just felt compelled to share these thoughts today. There are number of youtube videos on MBCT which can give you more information. However, feel free to ping me if you want suggestions. Keep well!

Eulogy for a dear friend

On that awful day in Oct 2014 when I got the news of Latha’s diagnosis, I knew several lives would no longer be the same, mine included. What I did not know was how much I would learn from my dear friend during those 10 months that followed. I saw someone who never for a moment drew attention to her condition or got emotional, but who continued along, business as usual, in the most practical and inspiring way. Who continued to joke and laugh over how she did not have time for all the potions she was being prescribed, who said “breast is best no?” (meaning a diagnosis of breast cancer would have been so much better) and who actually indulged others’ minor distresses – ie my sciatic pain or someone else’s headache. When I asked her once if she was not afraid– she returned “where is the time man? All I think about in this moment is if I should have green tea or dandelion tea”. One day on a more serious note she said to me “when I wake up at night and find myself wallowing in self-pity, I remember my dad telling me that it would do me no good and I stop”. Even as the disease progressed and her pain got worse, her humour and presence of mind never abated. One morning in July I asked her how she was feeling and here is her response verbatim “with the onslaught of the nuclear missiles of modern medicines like oxycodone and aleve I must say I am comparatively peachy. I even made curry yesterday. I am seriously considering becoming a drug addict. Forget the blessed tiger balm and what not. Whatcha doing?”

Latha did everything well. She was artistic, organised, incredibly clever and engaging, an amazing gardener, a fantastic cook, a great and loyal friend and above all a wonderful wife and mother. She was elegant, bubbly and expressive infusing any atmosphere with her exaggerated and funny facial and verbal expressions and her mirthful infectious laugh. But, she was by no means frivolous. She was very disciplined, ran a beautiful and well kept home, celebrated all festivals with gusto and reverence and raised her kids Neeraja and Prashant to speak Tamil, be kind, loving, affectionate, respectful and practical just like her. She was a wonderful companion and a pillar of strength to Sunder.

With her friends, she epitomised fierce loyalty. She had a wide circle through her personal and professional circles and also endeared herself to people easily, inviting newcomers to Canada, and people she had just met into her larger fold. She is the only one I know who had boundless capacity to maintain friendships over decades even with friends who have moved away.

Ask any one and they will tell you that she was their go to person for all kinds of information. When she sick in the hospital, I asked Sunder where I could get something and he turned to Latha and said “I don’t know but she does.” Alas she was unable to respond and selfishly I thought about how much I had taken her presence in our lives for granted.

Some things in life are incomprehensible. Why would such an amazing person who took such good care of her mind, body and spirit fall sick? Someone who ate right, practised yoga, exercised and always kept good cheer? Who had so much left to live for? Well we can only take comfort in her own words to me one morning in July “Baba says work off your karma and I will help you. Why carry over your karmas when you can finish it off in this birth. Be patient and I will help you.” It was probably not a coincidence that she died on Baba’s birthday and after all that she had faced so valiantly, she definitely had more wisdom than most.

Paris will have to wait!

I never understood what makes people different until I spent 2 weeks with an adult daughter whose priorities and approach to life are different from mine. Or maybe it is this generation of professional women. They are fiercely independent and uncompromising in their attitudes and principles. They are clear and guilt free about life choices - or seems that way for the most part.

We of the sandwich generation are yo yos, vacillating between pleasing and serving someone or other - parents and siblings, kids and grandparents. In fact our identity and relevance are wrapped around who we serve. We therefore make few decisions to plan our time off and wait till we are needed somewhere for someone. The icing on the cake is the gratification that comes from feeling useful. And as though addicted to that feeling, we keep coming back for more. Now, whether we are really useful is another matter. People may have managed even better without us? Very likely.

However, for once, on this recent trip to India, I found myself being useful. Along with my little sister, always the rock, I provided some physical and emotional support to Amma who underwent a complicated surgery.

So how was I useful ? For one, we managed her fears by consciously taking the drama out of everything. This we did by being the filter through whom she communicated with the rest of the world. Given the Indian context, where people have a natural flair for "showing concern" (aka meddling), this was a useful function.

Second, my sister and I also protected her as much as we could from a system where nurses are glorified personal support workers, overworked, exploited and directed by doctors. Being twice removed from the logic of a decision, around pain management, for eg, and unable to second guess a distracted doctor's decision or omission, they cannot be relied upon to know fentanyl should be administered at no more than 3-5 ml per hour. My encounters with a few, over that week we spent in the hospital, must have definitely given them PTSD.

Last but not least, I took charge when Amma got home, as her primary care provider, cooking for her, helping her with ablutions, motivating her to eat and to exercise per the physiotherapists' instructions. Poor thing had to relinquish control of the kitchen and endure my cooking. Wow I really enjoyed the power that came from wielding the spoon and shushing her objections! The last week I spent training my successor, and her substitute and hers...ok don't get me started.. the newly appointed help(s).

Not to be outdone by me, my husband has been focussed on the care of his parents during the past year, over 3 different trips to India. I was there on two of three and missed one to travel to England, where I helped our daughter move house and settle in! Since this has been and will be our lot over the next few, alternating between care of various family members, Paris will have to wait!