Once bitten, several times bitten

Once bitten, several times bitten

I don't know what it was that bit me the other night whilst I was sleeping but it certainly had a damn good feed. In fact judging by the number of bites over my right ear and on the back of my head, whatever it was seems to have rung a few friends up and invited them over for lunch as well.

Mosquito bites go with the territory unfortunately, particularly at this time of year. Before I settled in India and was just the occasional business traveller, I used to come armed with pills to ward off malaria. Six of them tasted OK but the seventh was disgusting and you had to take these for the duration of the trip plus, I think, for one month after you got back. When I moved here I gave up the idea of taking pills and in any event, Bangalore is not one of those places where malaria is a problem.

But malaria or no malaria, those damned insects still bite and there have been recent outbreaks of chikangunya and dengue in the city. The children sleep under nets but we don't, and this last week or so I've been bitten to pieces. The bites on my head are very painful and I wonder in fact whether it was something else other than a mosquito that bit me. Like a Bengal Tiger for instance.

In any event, our evening routine remains the same. We sweep our bedroom and bathroom with one of those mosquito zappers shaped like a tennis racket. Press the button and a small electric charge runs through the "strings"; enough to give out an unpleasant tingle if you happen to inadvertently "bat" your wife, but fatal for a mosquito. If it doesn't kill them straight away, it certainly fries them a little. "Tssss" they go, as they hit the charge (and when Niharika was just learning to speak she knew that a dog went "woof", a cat went "miaow", a cow went "moo", a mosquito went "tssss" and a cockroach went "splat").

But inevitably there's always one or two that you miss or that somehow sneak in during the night and one or two is all that it takes. When we move I think we'll take a leaf out of our children's books and sleep under a net.

Originally published on Blogger on 8th July 2008. But I've not slept under a net since.

Treading on the little people

Indians are good are keeping the downtrodden down. They're not the only ones of course, and I unwittingly joined in the game the other day too.

I've lost count of the times I've heard, when people are discussing servants, the phrase "don't spoil them"; an exhortation usually followed by the warning, "or they'll jump all over your head." Spoiling might mean being too familiar (such as smiling more often than is healthy), taking a servant on an outing with you, allowing a servant to eat at your table or sit on one of your chairs, saying "No go on, keep that one rupee change. Have it for going. Do you still have that shopping bill for a thousand rupees?" There are hundreds of examples of how you should and shouldn't treat servants and funnily enough - because I was reading this in an old Victorian publication not so long ago - those lessons on how the masters should behave have barely changed in the last hundred or more years. The difference these days is that the oppression is dealt out by Indians to Indians - and not by British overseers.

The master-servant relationship is one thing but similar rules come into play when dealing with tradesmen or indeed any situation which involves a financial transaction. Here's my story.

Stickler that I am for the dark ages, we don't have a coffee machine in the office. Instead of all that messy business of people going backward and forward to make brews, slopping tea on the floor, leaving the area like a complete pigsty etc, we have chai wallahs who come round to the office four times a day. They come in through the door, do a quick headcount and then deliver a small cup of coffee or tea or badam milk to our desks. We have two companies which keep us watered. One comes at 9am and 2pm, the other comes at 11am and 4pm. Each drink costs four rupees and we pay the guys at the end of each month, a total of around fifty pounds.

OK. Both companies supplied their drinks in the same sized plastic thimbles. Recently however, company two (the 11am and 4pm shift) had been handing out smaller cups and half filling these. I mentioned it the other day to the admin people here and was told, yes, they'd already mentioned it but the practice was persisting. So I said, tell them again and if it doesn't improve we'll cut their service or cut the amount we pay them. It improved for a bit, and then we had a couple of instance last week when we received small, semi-filled cups again.

So the upshot was that instead of paying for twenty five days at four rupees each, we paid them for 10 days at that rate, and fifteen days at three rupees, a matter of about 167 rupees I think (less than two pounds in Sterling). I explained this to the proprietor when he came in last week and he immediately said that he'd cut that amount from the coffee boy's wages.

So there you have it. The Brit complains about the service and treads on the vendor. The vendor in turn, treads on the coffee boy who'd done the pouring. Petty? Harsh? Maybe, but at the same time, the boy could have been cheating his employer and after all, he was warned. As Ronnie Corbett said in that classic sketch about class in 1967, "I know my place." (And do click on that link).

Originally published on Blogger on 3rd July 2008.

To drive or not to drive

We have eighteen days left at our current apartment. When my landlord hiked the rent in May I immediately responded, telling him that it was too much and we'd be moving out. Then, reflecting that we had a trip to England coming up soon, not to mention a consignment of house contents on its way to me across the Arabian Sea, I told him that we'd continue at the new rate, buying myself enough time to get our holiday out of the way, and my goods in the house.

So here we are, everything settled and I gave Shylock my notice for the second time, two weeks ago. Now we need to find somewhere to live. Apart from the first month in Bangalore when I stayed in the back of beyond at Hebbal, I've always lived close to the centre of town. I was on 2nd Cross for over two years and then moved to the adjoining street where we've been ever since. I like the convenience of where we are but we're really paying too much rent and I could be putting that money into my children's accounts rather than a Bengali's pocket.

It looks as though we'll be moving a little further out. Shilpi has found a place in KR Gardens close to the old airport, and although the place was a complete tip when we visited it two weeks ago, the landlord assured me that everything would be cleaned up. I told him that I'd believe that when we saw it and that I wouldn't be parting with any money until I was assured that everything was clean and working as it should do. So we're off to have a second look this weekend, and I'm expecting that I'll be saying to him, "that sink needs replacing, this drain cover is broken, this tap doesn't work, the bulb's gone..."

But then I have a reputation for being a fussy devil to maintain, and I've always found in India that it helps to keep your suspicion levels high and your expectations low. If we do move to KR Gardens though, my regular trips to the pub will have to be re-assessed. I'm currently a five minute walk away; KR would be half an hour or more. I have the car of course but I don't drink and drive which means it would either be a crab-wise stagger along Airport Road on a Friday night, or a smooth drive having been drinking unsatsisfying sweet lime soda all evening.

Decisions, decisions. And Gordon Brown thinks he's got a tough job keeping dwindling Labour Party supporters on his side, and the British public in favour of military interventions in Iraq and Afghanistan. He should be in my shoes!

Originally published on Blogger on 2nd July 2008. We did move and I did walk to and from the pub. Twenty minutes was my best time and I used to try and beat that every Friday night but never managed it. It was always twenty minutes, twenty one minutes, twenty two minutes...

Wanting the best

I have an amazing capacity for hoarding and for trivia... and for hoarding trivia. Having recently transcribed my diary for 1975 I see that at the beginning of that year, I was five feet, two inches tall and took a size eight shoe. That shoe was occasionally one with a four inch stack heel (well it was the seventies after all) and I clumped onto a bus every morning at 8.15, arriving at school between 8.40 and 8.45.

On 12th February that year, my brother found a frog at school. I received a Valentine's card from Anne Windsor two days later and on 20th February I went to bed in clean pyjamas and between clean sheets. I bathed my sore toe in salt water on Friday 14th March and exactly two months later, my sister's goldfish nearly choked to death on seaweed in its bowl. (I don't know if goldfish can actually choke, but that's what I wrote). Looking back now it amazes me that I chose to record some things over others. Why for instance would I note that on September 21st I killed five wasps and on October 9th, my sister sewed the ear on an elephant she was making? Surely something more exciting or notable happened on those days didn't it?

In any event, I find it quite fascinating reading about the little flirtations at school, the games of football with friends long-forgotten and narrowly missing an IRA bomb blast in Oxford Street, London.

But I also recorded the trips we made; journeys to visit our grandparents in London and in Dorset, visits to Hylands Park, Central Park, Admiral's Park, Danbury Lakes. Days out to Cambridge, Canterbury, London, Finchingfield. I was a fairly naive twelve year old for most of 1975 but I appear to have been quite active, most of that summer seemingly spent in swimming pools or having kick-abouts with friends.

And as I was typing up these thoughts from long ago I wondered what, if we stay in Bangalore for much longer, my children would write about in their diaries. We have Cubbon Park and Lal Bagh, both of them scruffy and overcrowded, and the only decent swimming pools are not public baths like the ones we used to go to, but membership or guest-only affairs in clubs and 5-star hotels. Nandi Hills is a reasonable trip and not too far away but whereas we had a huge choice of parks and opens spaces within ten minutes' reach, and London and Cambridge were an hour's car journey, in Bangalore - at the wrong time of day - we'd be lucky to make it from Indiranagar to City Market.

It's horses for courses. Bangalore is home to over seven million people, Chelmsford was maybe a hundred thousand or so in those days, I don't really know. But what I do know is that some of those qualities of life just aren't here in India. They are is in some respects but it's the little things like parks and open spaces and cleanliness and a good infrastructure which, over time, can begin to niggle.

Originally published on Blogger on 26th June 2008. In the year since I wrote that entry we've moved house twice and we now live in an apartment complex - Sriram Stepford - where the children have grass to play on, swings to swing on and a pool to swim in, a facility they use daily. They also have sunshine throughout the year. So yes, horses for courses as I wrote back then, and it's not so bad. The photo is of Hyland's House, Chelmsford.

Membrane Separation Process

No, not the brain activity which occurs whenever I meet an Indian government official, rather the catchy little title of a new volume by Kaushik Nath. Membrane separation processes are largely rate-controlled separations which require analysis for complete understanding. Read that sentence again. Nope, me either, but that's what it says on the flyer.

So I know that Mr Nath has written this book because his publishers, Prentice Hall, have told me so; they've sent me a direct mail shot - my second piece of direct mail in as many days - and just in case the whole membrane separation is just going to be too messy for me, they've also advised me of another publication by Amiya K Jana. This one is called Chemical Process Modelling and Computer Simulation.

Now why I should be mailed details of two incredibly complex technical/scientific books is completely beyond me. This also, to the person who, nearly thirty years ago this summer, vowed never to read another science book in his life and completely gave up on Physics, a subject which he'd hated and which had been thrust upon him at school. Grade 4 CSE was what I achieved for my physics paper in the summer of 1979 and if there is anybody reading this who still remembers CSEs in British schools, they'll know what an apallingly low score that grade 4 was. It was a mark of some pride to me that I managed to get a grade 4, whilst a friend of mine who'd actually revised, achieved a grade two. I mean, you were awarded a grade four if you wrote your name on the examination paper; three if you spelt it correctly.

But I digress. What I mean to say is that Prentice Hall of India could probably not have targeted anybody less likely than me to buy either of these books, even though - in what I take to be a last desperate move to make Mr Nath's book sound appetising - the publisher says that "the book has a sufficient number of examples and exercises, thus making it student friendly." Hmm, nice try but I don't think so.

As I mentioned the other day, direct marketing, whilst not exactly in its infancy in India, still has a long, long way to go. Maybe they were just testing whether the address (largely spelt correctly) was a bona fide one; something that they would be able to adjudge correct or otherwise by the number of returned mailshots.

In any event, having received the mailshot, I dropped Prentice Hall a line. This is what I wrote:

Dear Sirs

As the completely non-technical and non scientific director of a technology company in Bangalore, I was fascinated to receive your direct mailshot advising me of the publication of Mr Nath’s latest work. Whilst I appreciate that the book is primarily aimed at undergraduates (because it says so on the flyer), I’m guessing that there must be some relevance to the work I’m currently doing or else you wouldn’t have mailed me, even though it’s been twenty three years since I graduated (and that in an Arts’ subject too).

I’m guessing that I probably need to go in at a slightly lower level – perhaps a little more membrane and a degree or two less separation – and certainly a book with lots of pictures; ideally some that I can colour in. Does it come with crayons?

You also sent me information on another book concerning chemical process modelling and computer simulation. I have a very similar title published last year called Chemical Process Muddling and Computer Stimulation, and I think your book probably re-works an old theme so I won’t be interested thanks. Nevertheless, do let me know about the Membrane Separation thingy.

Yours sincerely etc etc

Let's see if I get a response.

Originally published on Blogger on 23rd June 2008. I'm still waiting for a response.

Village idiots

Maybe it's because HSBC claims it's the world's "local bank" that it treats its customers like village idiots.

Yesterday I received a direct mailshot from the bank. India's not big on direct mail, largely I suspect, because nobody can ever find the bloody addresses. In the west we have postcodes. They do here too, but you also generally need to give somebody a landmark. So your address might read: Golden Enclave, 2nd Cross, 10th G Main, Government Layout 2nd Stage, Bangalore 560027 and then a little instruction: "opposite the water tower, just left of the bakery... no, no, not there Dumbo, I said left of the bakery..."

The mailshot ran:

Dear Cardholder

We at HSBC are committed towards building lasting relationships with our customers by offering them maximum value through our products and services.

We have noticed that there is a fee-related outstanding amount on your HSBC credit card. As you are a valued customer of HSBC, we have reversed the outstanding fees on your credit card as a one-time service gesture.

What's more you will get a 10% cash back if you spend more than Rs 1,000 on your HSBC credit card before 30 June 2008. The maximum cash back amount will be Rs 500.

However, should you choose not to use your credit card before 30 June 2008, your sanctioned card limit will be withdrawn in toto for security reasons.

In case you no longer have the above mentioned card, please complete the attached form and return it to us in the enclosed Business Reply Envelope to receive the credit card.

Yours sincerely

HSBC Card Products Division.

Well first of all, when I took the card out, there were no fees mentioned and as soon as a fee did appear I called the customer service department where somebody apologetically explained that there had been a mix-up and I wouldn't be charged anything. At that point in time, most of the charges were reversed but they've slowly been creeping up and I've just as steadfastly been ingnoring them. Mind you, HSBC in India is the same bank which charges you when you make a cash deposit.

As for building lasting relationships though, they would appear to only last for as long as the customer uses the card. The message here is, use it over the next fifteen days or we'll prevent you from using it at all.

Interesting too, that the enclosed form with all my details printed on it, encourages me to replace my card for one where "the first year annual fee... will be waived [BUT] normal annual fees will be charged from the 2nd year onwards."

Originally published on Blogger on 21st June 2008.

Afghanistan

Pretty depressing news from Afghanistan where the casualties seem to be mounting. When we were in England recently there was a lot of hand-wringing and "why-oh-whying" as the 100th British Armed Forces' death in that country was announced. Now I see the figure has risen to 106 and the name of the first female fatality has just been announced.

History tells us that we (the British that is), don't fare particularly well in Afghanistan, and I wonder how long it will be before the cries to bring the troops back home become louder. At the moment there's certainly an element of stiff upper lipism and hearty back-slapping cameraderie but that will all wear a bit thin as the casualties mount. As far as I know, all the casualties so far have been amongst professional soldiers. They're paid to do a job that can involve them in warfare and so death is an occupational hazard; they know that when they sign up, and what they're getting themselves into.

Nonetheless, each life lost is a tragedy for the soldier's family and friends; another name to go down in the annals of British history perhaps but another heavy sacrifice all the same. In time there'll be a medal as a keepsake, perhaps a certificate, a parade through the streets of London and then, a few years from now, appeals by British ex-service charities to help Britain's forgotten soldiers. If we're lucky we'll probably be treated to case histories of soldiers who've lost limbs and eyes and then gently asked to send in twenty pounds or take out a monthly standing order.

There's a horrid inevitability to Afghanistan and, much like Iraq, the longer we're there the more the British public will a) forget why we went in the first place and b) start shouting more loudly for an end to it all.

Indian newspapers barely mention either Iraq or Afghanistan, although the wife of a local politician who allegedly hanged herself in Delhi, has several pages in most newspapers for the third day running. Quite right too, the local population possibly thinks, Afghanistan and Iraq are none of India's business and we had quite enough of Kandahar and Kabul when Lord Roberts and his troops were galloping backwards and forwards in the late 1800s.

I keep an eye on what's happening via the BBC News website and thank goodness for the internet (and particularly the likes of the BBC and CNN) and the wider world it brings us. I must send them an e-mail though. There was nothing on their sites about the hanged MPs wife in Delhi.

Originally published on Blogger on 19th June 2008. The news from Afghanistan does not get any better and as of today, 169 British personnel have now been killed on operations there since 2001. 33 year old Major Sean Birchall (pictured) of the 1st Battalion Welsh Guards, killed by an explosion on 19th June, is the latest fatality.