Adams to Franklin, Salinger to Updike

I had promised myself that I would blog furiously during my two months of forced bachelordom. Yet here I am with two days remaining, with not a single added entry.

I am still coming to terms with the change of job and the accompanying change of place. A few years ago, a cross-country move did not faze me, but now a move just a few Amtrak stops down the east coast feels more like an uprooting. The rolling stone did indeed gather some moss.

I do miss New Hampshire more than I expected to. I will try to describe our surroundings there for those who have not visited us. We lived in the sleepy town of Hollis, NH, about 50 miles northwest of Boston. It was a prototypical New England town in many ways. It was very sparsely populated, less than 2 people per acre of land. The lady at the registrar's office could recite your name and your dog's name from memory if you just give her the address. The majority of the town was all forest with tall pine, birch, ash and dogwood trees mixed in with unbelievably lush meadows and rivers and streams. The aquifers under the land drank copiously from these fresh water sources, so much so that the town's water supply system simply consisted of wells in each home. We lived next to large areas of reserve forest filled with criss-crossing trails where people walked, rode horses, camped, biked, and did 'snow-shoeing' in the winter. Our house was situated on a dirt road - a symbol of pride in those parts - lined with trees so dense that they formed a welcoming arch... an arch that turned from green to golden yellow to blood red in fall before withering away, only to sprout again in spring. We could take a mile-long walk along this road, past a horse farm and a house with a putting green in its front lawn and an apple orchard, and reach the town center. This was a quaint collection of church, market, firehouse, ball-field, and an old cemetery arranged in a charming triangle at the center of which was an island with a war memorial and a lawn for events like the summer strawberry festival or a flower show. There were farmers' markets where we could buy freshly picked fruits and vegetables, or we could go into the farm and pick them out ourselves. At the edge of town, there was a larger field shared with the neighboring town that held flea markets every weekend, except once a month in spring and summer when the owners of antique cars got together to show off their sparkling 1968 chevy's and plymouths. One of the main shopping centers of the state was just 15 minutes away in Nashua, but it might as well been a light year away. And of course, whenever we needed the bustle of the city, there was always Boston waiting just an hour away. I cannot say enough about this great city, its extra-ordinary history and culture, its walkability, its civic-mindedness. Those weekends spent walking the freedom trail, wandering in Newbury street and gazing across the waterfront will always remain with me. So one fine morning in August, I left all this and headed south, and now here I am in the outer suburbs of Philadelphia.

For most of the ordinary routine of life, things are much the same. There is a Costco down here carrying the same bale of paper towels in the exact same location in reference to its front door - 'advantages of scale' have ensured a certain familiarity wherever one goes in these United States of Generica. Beyond the routine, however, the texture and taste are certainly different, like a meal with the same staples but different spices. It hits you in many ways, subtle and loud. The traffic reports on the radio call out unfamiliar names that scramble one's phonetic radar ( the river in Philadelphia is pronounced 'skoo-kle', not 'sky-kill', as the spelling suggested to me). My disorientation is made worse due to the fact that my postal zip code maps to Eagleville, Norristown or Audobon depending on whch database you are looking at - a crazy outcome of the way in which Pennsylvania seems to subdivide into local governmental units. The landscape of course is different, but it takes a bit longer to notice differences in people. Texas had its twang and drawl of self-assuredness bordering on cockiness, California had its curious mixture of free spirit and political correctness, New Englanders are prim-and-propah and aloof, but form deep bonds once you cross the barriers. I haven't decided yet what stereotypes apply to Philadelphians. More than these general tendencies, the characteristics of the individual people we interact with will have a greater bearing on us. If it is true that the flow of our days are determined not only by our interests, but those of our social network, then each displacement brings a whole new experience with it.

All these changes leave me with a feeing of uncertainty, and the economic doldrums only add to that. But lest I get too despondent, a short walk from my apartment takes me to Valley Forge National Park, where the inscription on the memorial arch carries the words of George Washington:

"Naked and starving as they are,
We cannot enough admire
The incomparable Patience and Fidelity of the Soldiery"

It brings into sharp focus the relative ease and prosperity of our life as compared to those who blazed the trail before us. Three centuries ago, the bitter cold winter at this hallowed site almost put paid to the chances of birthing this new nation. John Adams faced a lot more than traffic jams when he took much the same route as I did from Boston to Philadelphia, but with the nobler quest of crafting the Constitution. Let me keep that in mind while I whine about the lack of a good desi grocery store nearby.

- Balaji.

No blogging for new dads

Photography, concerts, reading, movies, football on TV - all the things that I used to take for granted in my life have come to a screeching halt the past few months. Is it any wonder that the blog too has also taken a backseat ? Of course, the reason is the arrival of little Mr. Sanjeeva into our world. He claims every bit of our attention in our wakefulness and in our sleep, and we give it to him willingly. It is a mystery to me - where did we find the depths of forbearance and calm in the presence of a screaming baby, whose complaints we can only guess.

Oh, fear not, we have a plan - we have one official pediatrician, and at least 4 unofficial ones on call - a neighbor, an aunt and a couple of friends, all highly qualified doctors. And Nandini has by now read everything there is to be read on the intertubes on the subject of babies, twice over. That still does not guarantee however that I can tell if he needs to be burped or changed or held - that I find out strictly by trial and error.

The myriad minor day-to-day crises do not leave time even for, say, a lazy shower, much less for larger contemplation on the meaning of it all. The other day, in a fit of earnestness, I searched the web to see who shares Sanjeeva's birthday - as if the accident of the 365 day calendar is somehow a marker of a shared destiny. I came up with James Thurber, Dharmendra, William Durant, Mike Mussina and Johann Sibelius. So there - he could be a writer, actor, inventor, sportsman or composer. I tried to make more sense of it, but was interrupted by him making eyes at me.

One thing I have learnt however, is that we don't learn that easily. My prior experience with raising dogs is supposed to have helped, but it doesn't really. After buying tons of toys for the 4-legged ones - toys that squeak and toys that roll and toys with color, I then watched them play happily with random sticks and stones in the yard... So why am I surprised that Sanjeeva's best sources of entertainment right now are sundry light fixtures. He has not received the memo that if it doesn't have a FisherPrice label on it, it is not worth giggling at or talking to.

I do mean to blog about other things - maybe the actuarial value equivalence clause in the health reform bill - but right now I gotta go find his favorite pacifier so that peace may reign once again. Ciao.

If I could do whatever I wanted....

.... this is what I would be doing for a living. There is fascinating new work in cracking the Indus valley language code. Scientists and linguists have been poking at this elephant like the proverbial blind men for almost a century now. With the exponential increase in computing power, we may soon be able to bludgeon this problem into submission. We could solve once and for all the mystery of the origins of the Indus valley civilization and prove or disprove the various theories such as aryan migration. We may soon see the Harappan equivalent of the Rosetta Stone. I just hope that popular culture in India comes up with something better than 'Hosetta Stone'. I am quite sick and tired of the Bollywood, Kollywood, Tollywood sequence.

Torture and a haircut

The other day, I was getting my hair cut by a particularly garrulous girl. I told her that I was just back from vacationing in India, she proceeded to ask me why women 'over there' wear 'those black things all over them'.. I explained to her that a majority of women in India dont wear purdah, and she was probably talking of the middle east.. To which she asked me where exactly India was..'isn't it next to Eye-raq or some such'. So from a selfish point of view, this is what most scares me about this whole torture episode.... I will explain shortly. First things first.
I am not able to let go of these recent disclosures on torture by the CIA without any comment. The images and the descriptions are too gruesome to even contemplate. While I wish all terrorists their comeuppance in jahannum, or naraka or wherever their misdeeds take them, I do believe that as a nation bound by the rule of law, the government should not be acquiescing in such brazen violation of its own constitution. I will certainly forgive the decisions taken by the US govt. in the first few months after the 9/11 attacks, when the whole country was in panic and another attack of much bigger proportions was widely expected. But the recently released memos indicate that the institutionalization of these procedures contined and even flourished many many years after that event, even after the procedures became public and provided recruits to AlQaeda. And for those who say that 'those m..f..ers deserved it', I would humbly point out that the notion of torture without trial presupposes guilt. If you made an error, you cannot go back and 'untorture' a person, just like you cannot 'unkill' him or her after a death sentence has been carried out.
Furthermore, I shudder when I think about my experience in the first paragraph in this context. The average American, sad to say, is still very ignorant about geopolitics, and certainly cannot distinguish between the significant difference between being Irani or Indian or Indonesian... I wonder what would happen if I am stopped in some airport by mistake and events take a wrong turn, based on some random American officer's judgement. Remember, there was no recourse to the law or the justice system for any of these people. I do not expect such shocking things to happen within the borders of the US, but I cannot be sure anymore.
Having said all this, let me also reiterate in the same breadth that very few nations of the world have the moral authority to lecture the United States on this issue. It is a fundamental and admirable trait in American system that, despite all its shortcomings, it has repeatedly displayed the capacity to self-correct. I maybe accused of naivete, but I sincerely believe that if John McCain had become president, he would have authorized a similar trajectory of disclosure, though perhaps much later in his presidency. As a veteran and a former PoW, he has a unique perspective and has always said that he does not condone torture.
It is a all too easy for other coutnries in the so-called western world to lecture the United States, but none of them have to deal with the size, scope and complexity of the threats facing the US. Those countries will get a right to voice their opinion right after they contribute substantially more soldiers to the Afghan effort... And with regard to the rest of the world, such as China, Russia or any of the Islamic coutnries, a not-so-gentle reminder about ' glass houses' is in order. The same goes for my own country, India, home of the 'encounter' and the 'extra-judicial treatment'.
Finally, this issue has somehow become a partisan debate in the American political scene, much like the Iraq war has been. We have to remember that members of Congress (atleast members of the Intelligence and other relevant committees) were aware of these practices, and chose to ignore, or even support them. While the previous administration and their justice department deserves most of the blame, a portion of it also goes to both the Republican and Democratic leaders in Congress. If we are going to look in the rearview mirror, let us atleast use an unblemished one. My vote ( I don't have one in this country by the way), is to let the truth come out by itelf in bits and pieces over a long period of time. Every such reminder of these past events will be like another drop of Chinese water torture for the collective conscience of the nation, and a reminder to never do it again.

One script: A curse or a blessing

Wandering through the movie-saturated, intellectually starved wasteland that is Indian satellite television (IMHO), I was struck by one thing - the extent to which the Romanization of Indian language scripts is already underway, whether we like it or not. An increasing number of announcements were displayed in vernacular (Tamizh, Bangla, etc.,) as well as in roman script. This is also becoming increasingly true in the billboards, pamplets and various other advertising media. It is clear that the concept of a Tamil / Hindi computer has not caught on fire. I am yet to see a single person among my acquaintances to use one of those. This leads me to believe that in our lifetime, we will see a total switch to a common script for most Indian languages. I am very conflicted about this, however. I reluctantly accept that a unified script is conducive to cohesiveness and development. It is not a coincidence that the entire European union, including the only Islamic country that stands a chance of being admitted - Turkey -uses the Latin/Roman script. On the other hand, I am sure that many many people will bemoan the possibility of losing the highly individualized scripts that accompany the various languages of India. Language is culture, and script is part of language. I am curious to see if the scientific research that connects linguistic versatility to congnitive ability, also extends to the script in addition to the sound of the language. If eventually we have no choice but to unify our scripts, can we atleast agree on an Indian script? Unfortunately I fear that this last wish opens a Pandora's box.... I dont even want to suggest which script to converge on, though the answer maybe obvious.... Moreover, without a ழ, तामिल will not sound the same.

Pralaya Payodhi Jale........

Among the tons of trees and ink (and electrons) being spent to mark the 200th birthday of Darwin, I found this interesting nugget... that Hindus and Buddhists are the most accepting of evolutionary science, with an impressive 80% likelihood. Here is the full article.

Hat tip: Andrew Sullivan

I often wonder about the progression in the Dashavatara, which roughly traces the progression of species from the acquatic to the amphibious to the land-based, to half-man-half-animal and finally to humankind. What a great way to teach evolution....

(From the Left - Doorkeeper Matshya, Kurma, Varaha, Narasimha, Vaman, Parashurama, Rama, Balarama, Krishna, Kalki and Doorkeepers)

Avva's fan base

Thanks to the magic of Google, I have managed to track and map the readership of the piece on Avva. Here it is.. The thickness of the circles represents the number of times it was read from a particular spot. I can recognize most of it, though Spain, Germany and Estonia were surprises!

"If a tree falls in the forest..." and other existential issues

Unlike the trees in the philosophical question, we could hear these falling loud and clear... We stayed up all night listening to them and praying they don't fall on the house. That was a nasty ice storm. We have power back on now, after roughly 48 hours, but there are thousands still waiting for power in minus 10 centigrade weather.

The passing of an era

This post is a tribute to my grandmother, Smt Rajammal, who passed away about three weeks ago. I would encourage readers who are connected in any way at all with the family, to leave your comments for all to see. I am sure that everyone would love to hear your thoughts.

For those who knew her, I do not have to reiterate the prominence of her role in the family over her entire lifetime.  For us, she was one of a kind, but beyond that, I agree with Nanda that she represents  the passing of an era, a link to a time during which none of us existed. Her life itself, intertwined of course with that of my grandfather, has provided me with endless fascination, as a reflection of society as it existed, but also as a testament to her iron will. As much as this represents a sad time for us, it is also a time to celebrate her long and fulfilling life.

She was born in Tirunelveli (Tinnevelly was the anglicized name) in south Tamil Nadu, on the banks of the Tamraparani river. Her childhood and adolescence, in all indications, was spent in comparative comfort, her father being a prominent advocate. I have heard stories of horse-drawn coaches and footmen. One oft-repeated fact (though we never tire of it), is that she sang in front of Gandhiji at a meeting of the Indian National Congress, and that the songs were taught to her by none other than Subramanya Barathi, one of the poet laureates of the independence movement. I have not been able to ascertain whether it was a major congregation or a minor one, since I did not find a record of a Tirunelveli session of the INC (click this link). I would love for someone to clarify this.

She married into the Badithe family at an early age, as was the custom of the time. My grandfather's professional duties took him all over the erstwhile Madras presidency, and she accompanied him on his travels. They lived in, among other places, Rajamundry, Nellore, two stints in Ooty, Mangalore, Udipi, Manipal, Madras, Kadalur and Chidambaram, before settling back in Coimbatore. My two moves in the United States, with the help of all modern conveniences, proved to be nerve-wracking enough - I cannot begin to imagine what such an itinerant career would have done to me. But the constant movement must have given Avva a much broader view of the world, which she retained throughout her life. She had a very high level of curiosity, was innately capable of recognizing that people were different, but at the same time, that certain basic human tendencies remained the same. Along the way, she also managed to give birth to and raise her children, while also suffering through the pangs of infant mortality. Today, her sons and daughters, her 21 grandchildren and 20 great grandchildren (did I leave anyone out ? ), all of whom are in happy homes, with successful careers, and a generally contented life, are testimony to her successful navigation of the tremendous challenges of her life. 

And challenges she did face. Thatha's job afforded only a barely adequate lifestyle, but they bore the burden with equanimity and grace. There was the constant danger of disease that existed in the days before the spread of modern medicine - she was forced to live in small towns with limited medical help, where typhus, malaria, tuberculosis were always lurking, and there was nothing much one could do. Later in life, she suffered through the loss of a daughter, a son, and two sons-in-law, and of course Thatha, each of which must have been devastating to her. But I have never seen her bow down to the darts thrown by fate.  I was always amazed by her resilience and grit, and her ability to 'get on with it'.  She was never one to pause and ponder or pity herself or let despondency take over. She was not only endowed with mental strength, but also with tremendous physical stamina. Around the time I first left for the United States, she was still capable of using an iron machete to peel the husk of dry coconuts taken from the tree in our KG Street house.... that seems a long time ago, except when you realize that she was over 80 years old at that time. 

Avva's role was not restricted to being the matriarch of our immediate family. Our KG street house in Coimbatore was a sort of  focal point of a large extended family, and this was also in large part due to her influence. Literally hundreds of relatives and friends sought her opinion and her blessings on a regular basis on all kinds of matters. Our house was always teeming with people, which made it a very lively place, but also a logistical nightmare, especially if you wanted any kind of privacy.

With all her abilities and her sheer strength, I am probably not overstating the case when I say that, had she been born in a different era with a different set of opportunities, she was probably CEO material.
Avva's influence on me cannot be overstated. Much of it was in my early childhood... She had taught herself the Kannada script, though having lived in Tamil speaking areas almost all her life, and this she imparted to me by making me read the Bhagavatha and other mythological books in their kannada translations. Moreover, I have fond memories of accompanying her to the Pravachanas at Sankara mutt, of Ramayana and Thruppavai from well known Vaishnavite preachers. She was also well versed in music, and though I have not inherited her voice, she has contributed to molding whatever sangeetha gnanam I have today. In other words, a good measure of the credit for my enduring interest in music, mythology and all things cultural goes to her.

Avva was more like an unyielding oak tree than a flexible bamboo. The same characteristics that made her weather the storms of life also made her stubborn sometimes, and it was not always smooth sailing....  I have had my disagreements with Avva, though this is not the time to hash them out.  But taken in totality, there is no doubt her life has enriched ours in more ways than we care to admit. 

Finally, if you ask me the one thing I'd like to remember about her, it is that she was a great story-teller. She had a commanding presence, a very good style of delivery, and a great sense of humour. Most of the family has heard with helpless laughter, her description of the 'Kolavi Kottadu' episode... but in the interest of those who have not, I will try to retell it. When they lived in Kadalur for two years, Avva and Thatha were in a house that shared a well with their immediate neighbor, a  Tamilian. One day, when thatha was in the back drawing water, there was a wasp (kolavi) buzzing about. Thatha let out a warning, saying "Kolavi Kottadu"... In the trade-mark Badithe tongue, which was Kannada mixed liberally with Tamil, this meant "The wasp will sting", but taken purely as Tamil, it meant "The wasp will not sting". This caused great consternation to the neighbor Mami, who complained later to Avva - "Athenna Mama apdi solrar ? Kolavi kandippa kottum Mami !"

The Military Commission's Diabolical Math

On August 7, 2008, the trail of Salim Ahmed Hamdan ended with a verdict and a sentence. Both sides are claiming vindication, but I would be hard-pressed to find evidence of a government victory here. The jury acquitted Hamdan on the more serious charge, and essentially slapped him on the wrist on the lesser charge with a light sentence. Personally, I would not have been sad to see him get a life sentence. But the circumstances of the detention and trial have complicated the government's efforts, to put it lightly.
The most interesting aspect for me, is a delicious, some would say diabolical, bit of math performed by the military jury. They handed a 5 1/2 year sentence with credit for time served, which implies that there are 5 1/2 months left in the sentence (I am taking the major news networks at at their word). If you assume that, the sentence ends on January 22... 2 days after the presidential inauguration !
So the first order of business for a new president is to decide whether to continue Hamdan's detention as an unlawful combatant or to release him. Either way, it will mark an emphatic beginning to the presidency.
Further, if the networks are off by a few days, it may turn out to be the last decision that President Bush has to make before leaving office. Which way will he sway in his attempt to "cement his legacy" ?
I think this maybe a deliberate attempt by the jury to force the issue. I love it !

Going to school on iTunes

There is a new feature in iTunes called "iTunes U", and I cannot recommend it highly enough. It consists mainly of lectures from universities and colleges. While a lot of these lectures are nowadays available on the individual university websites, it is still very cool to have them collected in one place. And the most amazing aspect of it all - they are free, every one of them. It is remarkable to me that so many schools and professors are willing to put their work out there without charging for it.

Some of the pieces are short clips... one I would recommend, for example is a charming series on infinity from Mr. Luis Moreno from Broome Community College. Others are entire lecture series for a graduate course, with links to detailed lecture notes, the tests for the course and a whole lot more. I am currently spending some quality time, vicariously of course, with Dr. Dave Forney from MIT in his digital communication class and Dr. Stephen Boyd from Stanford in his Convex Optimization course. I have had these course before of course, but you will be surprised how much rust accumulates after being a decade out of grad school. It is refreshing for me to go back to the classroom, but without some of the associated pressures. It is you against the blackboard, everything else is peripheral. For brief periods of time, you get to try and match your wits with someone considered great in their field, follow their train of thought and have legitimate voila moments.

For me, however, there is one thing better than being in a class, and that is teaching it. Every so often, events such as viewing these lectures tend to revive a longstanding desire in me to enter the teaching profession.. Unfortunately, I have come a long way down the road in industry to go back.. Especially in my field (telecommunications), but apparently also in a lot of other fields, being on a faculty nowadays has less to do with teaching than with looking for research grants. I think if I had the luxury, I would rather teach in a community college than a major university. If they will have me, of course... I am reminded of Groucho Marx's quip that he won't be associated with any club that would have him as a member! Anyway, this is a whole other discussion.....

Back to iTunesU: There is something for any background and interest, be it astronomy or arts. There are also public radio and television pieces, video from some great museums, etc.

Check it out. You may get hooked.

Modernizing our Music

You have to know me only for a very short time to realize that I am passionate about Indian classical music, particularly the southern variety, also referred to as the karnatak style. Like all great classical art forms, it provides a mixture of spiritual bliss and sensual pleasure. For me, it is a salve to soothe the wounded soul; a breeze to to lift a soaring imagination.
Of late, the question ringing in my head is whether it is time to add another dose of modernity to this art whose grammar can be traced half a millenium back, and whose melodic genesis is lost somewhere among the hoary antiquities of the Sama Veda. Note that I say 'another' dose - our music has already shown to be very nimble in response to a changing world. The violin that has become such an integral part of a concert ensemble, is a prime example of this adaptability.
The extensive use of poetic composition to enhance the melody and rythm of the music is a unique feature, not shared by many other forms. Karnatak music combines the improvisational sensibilities of jazz, soul and opera with the more regimented majesty of the symphony. The lyrics are an important enabler of this versatility. Experienced rasikas as well as novices still revert to the trick of identifying a raaga by associating it with their favoirite composition in that scale. But, contrary to what some - especially among Hindustani aficionado friends of mine - may believe, the lyrics are more than just mnemonic crutches that make the music accessible to the masses, like an electoral symbol helps an illiterate to cast his vote. The lyrical composition is essential to the DNA of the genre. How many times have we seen a music critic, trying to compliment an instrumental performance, say that his or her violin "speaks".
I risk ruffling a lot of traditionalist feathers here, but I think that a major impediment to the expansion of karnataka sangeetha beyond it's current niche is its overwhelming dependence on religious lyrics. As the music broadens it's reach in a global world, I believe it is time for it's practitioners to also compose using more diverse themes. While prior generations were used to learning and reciting by rote in an unquestioning manner, we see a new confident and assertive generation emerging, who may want to agree with the words before they sing them! The Bhakti movement has had a profound influence in karnatak compositions, an ethos which may not agree with the swashbuckling world-conquering mood in present-day India and the worldwide Indian diaspora. I am not at all advocating that we ignore the inspiring creations based on the theme of man's submission to God that is inherent in the bhakti tradition. All I am saying is that it is time for those in the forefront of today's musical stage to add to this repertoire with compositions on various other themes. I believe it is not an accident that most of the recent innovation in karnatak sangeetha has come in instrumental composition and fusion music. Artistes and composers have been unwilling to come up with fresh lyrical compositions for fear of not measuring up to the greats of old, and rightfully so, since only an inferior product can result if the cultural landscape of the times is not allowed to infuse into the work. There have been some attempts to this effect, though very few and far between. Subramanya Bharathi's songs on romantic themes, for example, occupy a prominent place in the so-called 'thukkada' sections of many concerts, but still he composed almost a century ago. Balamurali, Lalgudi Jayaraman and Ambujam Krishna.... the list of composers from the last quarter century is small indeed.. and I cannot recall a single concert in which their numbers were the centerpiece.
If we are to expand the practicing and listening base for this great art form, then I suggest that we find a way to straddle both 'Ave Maria' and 'O Sole Mio'. We do not want our favourite classical music to become like a classical language, frozen in time and unable to add to its vocabulary. Growing this great musical tradition is the best tribute we can pay to its stalwarts, including one Sri Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, whose birth centenary we celebrate today.

Moral Hazard

From the point of view of economic philosophy, I have been mostly a free-market conservative so far, but the current issue of the mortgage crisis has shaken my beliefs. Should the markets be allowed to correct themselves, at the risk of many individual homeowners getting badly burnt ? One could argue that the marketplace is setup so that people learn from their mistakes, but in such a big bet as a house, someone who is burnt once may not get a second chance for a very long time. And there will be newer crop of prospective homeowners who will take the same risks, because it is THEIR first time.
The so-called true conservatives seem to be torn on this issue also. They seem to have drawn a line in the sand at some point, Bear Stearns in this case. So their dictum seems to be : the market should be allowed to function, and the painful effects of taking bad risk should be borne by the risk-takers, unless the risk takers are so big that they will cause a complete collapse of the system. The problem with this approach is that it reinforces the liberal view that the big guy eventually gets off easy.
It is quite a spectacle to see Paulson advocating a major addition to the Fed's powers, while at the same time John McCain calls for a laissez-faire approach. Paulson's proposal is quite in keeping with the current administration's modus operandi - that any additional powers should fall only in the hands of a few ( the Fed in this case) without any oversight or rules attached.
I want to continue carrying my core beliefs, so someone please educate me in the flaws of my viewpoint.

The wallet and the cellphone

Here is a gentle one to launch my blogging career.

I am discovering - like countless others no doubt - that travel is a powerful muse. The bombardment by various cultures and climates in quick succession jolts one's mind and forces it to dispute long-held assumptions. And the long hours in the confines of an aircraft seat, with nothing but stale air, stale movies and other stale people for company, provides plenty of opportunity for the mind to wander off into reveries that dont have a chance to get started in the comfort of home.

I recently had two experiences in a span of a few weeks that seem vaguely correlated to me. Both involve the misplacement of objects and their recovery. When I was in Beijing in October 2005, I was traveling in a taxi with a couple of colleagues, Ramakrishna and Tom. After we got off at a Pizza Hut ( that revered sanctuary for vegetarians in China), we discovered that Ramakrishna had left his wallet in the taxicab. Ramakrishna seemed cool enough, but I was filled with some unspeakable dread for the plight of my friend. Identity theft sounds bad enough by itself, but to be confronted with the stark possibility while in a strange land with questionable legal recourse! Also for no logical reason, scenes from that movie in which Richard Gere gets caught in a Chinese prison flashed thorugh my mind. Is carelessness a punishable crime in China?
We did the only thing we could do, which was to hurry back to our hotel, where Ramakrishna surrendered himself to the mercy of the concierge. Fortunately, our company makes us save receipts for all expenses including toothpicks. The concierge used the taxi receipt, which was Greek and Latin to us, but just plain Mandarin to him. He was able to track down the cab, and the wallet was returned in 30 minutes time. We were all full of praise for the honesty of the driver, and the efficiency with which the article was returned.

Now change of scenery to the city of St. Louis just 5 weeks later, where I was attending a conference. It was a cold windy afternoon, and people were bustling outside in smart overcoats and hats. I sorely wanted to venture outside and feel the gritty mid-western soul of this once-great city, but I was trapped in the bubble that was the convention center. It was already time to leave and head back home. I checked out of the hotel and took a perfunctory walk to the great arch which was just a mile away. I was mesmerized by its sheer size and presence. On one side of the arch were the downtown skyscrapers. The other bank of the river was populated by rusty old industrial buldings, apparently providing material to be towed by the enormous barges that are the trademark of ole' Miss. A riverboat casino loomed in the background. The shiny steel of the arch, which probably personified the future aspirations of the city, was somehow not in harmony with the grime of the downtown and the factories on either side. I was also more than a little puzzled by the position of the arch. I had always thought that this arch was a gateway that spanned the Mississippi. But to my surprise I found out that it stands on one side of the river. Why this curious pisitioning? Surely, the country that has enough engineering genius to build the Golden Gate could have mustered up the brainpower to build this arch across the river ? Maybe the river is just too wide for such a structure. I could have gone in to the museum and found out the true story, but I was already very late for my flight. The balmy San Diego sun and surf were a-calling.

So I bought a hot cuppa chai and got into a cab. The driver, a young guy with a middle eastern accent, soon found common ground with me to carry on a conversation - he had also lived in Southern California, as I do now. I checked in at the airport and was contemplating calling my wife, when to my utter dismay, I found that I dont have my cellphone in my possession. During the act of getting out of the cab, which involved juggling the bags and the tea and the wallet to pay the cabdriver, I had left my phone! Flashback to Beijing. But only for a moment. This was America. After having lived more than a decade here, I am more in tune with its customs and procedures than even the country of my birth, India. Of course I can get my phone back. I turned to the receipt, and it was just a plain card without even a phone number. The card did not have even a name for the cab company, but I remembered the name from memory. I pulled out the yellow pages at the phone booth, but alas, no listing. I tried the information line, which gave me a number but that number turned out to be a disconnected line. Maybe the cab company was a front for a mafia operation that specializes in stealing cellphones and using them for dubious purposes. It was time to board the aircraft. I was already experiencing withdrawal from the modern addiction to the handheld device. People all around me were acting out the 21st century version of an ancient hunting ritual - they were pulling out their drum and smoke device and saying "Honey, I am on the plane, will call you soon as I land.".

If this story ended here, I'd have lost a phone but found a good storyline - "Authoritarian societies operate with more efficiency". But it is not over yet. This cabdriver found my cellphone in his backseat and used the call log to call my friend Charlie, who was the last person I had talked to before I lost the phone. Charlie emailed me the cabdriver's contact number. After I got home, I called the driver and requested him to handover the phone to - who else - the concierge of my hotel at St. Louis. The concierge then shipped it to San Diego. All this took a day and a half. The score: Communism - 36 minutes, Capitalism - 36 hours.

In both instances, the honesty of the individual was a common denominator. Assuming this basic honesty, it turns out other things maynot form a barrier at all. For example let us examine the language barrier. If the cabdriver in Beijing had found the article a bit later, his ignorance of English and our lack of Chinese would have made things very difficult.... or is that the case..? Suppose my cellphone was lost in Beijing, and the driver followed the same path that the driver in St. Louis took, which is to call the number from the log, he would have reached Charlie - whose full name is in fact Jianzhong Zhang, who would have explained things to him in fluent Chinese, and I would have got my phone back.
So, you see folks, I didnt learn anything about the comparative value of political systems with respect to the lost-and-found. In fact the only lessons to be learned from these episodes are:

1) We should travel less, to avoid such lapses.
2) The hotel concierge is a God-like figure.

- Balaji

PS: Sorry for the long detour about the arch... I got carried away.