Analysis Of The Disparities Between Nations - Part I

Well, the video did set me thinking on one angle. Scandinavia (Sweden, Finland, Norway and Denmark) pays a lot of attention to inequality. Throughout Europe there is a strong thread of socialism in society. This can be witnessed in the high tax rates and excellent social security systems.

For example, primary and secondary education is free in Finland and in some cases even undergraduate education can be free. Tuition fees at undergraduate levels are quite nominal throughout Europe in government funded schools. And if you can prove your financial difficulties, then state aid is assured. Compared to our own socialist experiment, we would expect that government funded schooling = poor quality education. However, the bulk of the population in Finland goes to the government funded schools. If the quality of education were poor, then a market for private schools would have emerged. But from what I know, it is not the case.

However, this does not mean everything is hunky dory. There is one section of people that really finds it hard to make ends meet. My observation is that this section is dismissed as "bums" or "drug addicts". The argument is that, if they are in their plight inspite of all that the government does for them, well, it cannot be helped. In that sense it can be pretty tough for a few. It is not a perfect world but broadly, the western European nations appear to have done a good job.

But how do we test this or quantify this? The most commonly used metric for inequality is the Gini index. The Gini index is based on the Gini Coefficient which is calculated as follows. Let us play around with some statistics.

The data was taken from Human Development Reports. I had to make one assumption to smooth over data issues. The Population and GDP Per Capita figures in the excel sheets are for 2005. When I try to access the Gini Index data for 2005 it links to the 2007-08 data. I have assumed that the situation has not changed too much in the past 3 years in terms of inequalities.

Here is a list of top 15 nations in the Gini Index. I have also included the US and the BRIC countries. The analysis is based on a sample of 126 countries.

The Scandinavian countries are all in the top 10. But other than Japan, the rest of the company is not exactly enviable. Slovakia, Bosnia and Herzegovina(!), Hungary, Ukraine... Purely from casual reading we know these nations are not exactly the kind of nations that the world wants to emulate. Therefore, it appears that most of the equitable nations in the world are equitable because they appear to make everyone poor! The Hindu rate of growth!

Let us look at the BRIC countries. Amongst the BRIC countries we seem to be doing the best. We are at 54 while China is at 93 (yay!?) and Brazil at a really low 116. However, doing good on the Gini scale may not be such a great thing as the previous table suggested. That great model for the world (not anymore?) US is at 71. So only do nations that have low prosperity end up with a high Gini score? How do we measure prosperity?

One measure applied for prosperity is GDP per capita. GDP per capita has some flaws since it is an aggregate measure. But since we are taking that and Gini index into account, it should be an interesting exercise.

This makes more sense doesn't it? The ones whom we thought as not worthy of emulation have low GDP per capitas. Bosnia and Herzegovina has $2500, Slovakia at $8616, Ukraine at $1761. The Scandinavian countries stand out here too. Sweden has $39,637, Denmark at $47,769, Finland at $36,820 and Norway at a whopping $63,918.

Looking at the BRIC countries, there does seem to be an inverse relationship between Gini Coefficients and GDP Per Capita. Can we not grow without increasing inequality? (Afterthought, the same analysis will be better done with PPP adjusted GDP Per Capitas)

Let us do one thing. Let us take the nations with the highest GDP Per Capitas and check out their Gini Indices. Remeber when it comes to Gini Index, lower is better.

Interestingly, among the top 25 GDP per capitas we have countries like Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain. These countries are there on the strength of their natural resources and comparing them is really not going to help us. Let us drop them and build a new table. And the BRIC countries were left out in this one.

(I could have skipped it, but really just wanted to illustrate a point. I also wanted to show how thinking processes really are iterative. When we read from textbooks, we read the end result of a thought process. Unfortunately, the thinker rarely gets to that stage without many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip.)

Okay, last one, I promise. This one shows the GDP Per Capita rank and Gini Index rank for nations.

A cursory glance seems to satisfy the hypothesis that the most prosperous are quite unequal. Let us look at those that have done really well. I define "successful" nations as those whose difference between Gini ranks and GDP Per Capita ranks is not greater than 10. (It is an arbitrary cutoff)

Those are: (Drumrolls please)

Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Netherland, Austria, Finland, France, Canada and Germany.

And what do you know. Barring Canada, the rest are in Europe. I know that they have a strong socialist philosophy. But how come socialism works for these people while it does not work for Czech Republic, Bulgaria, India, China?

Or wait, are these metrics developed in Europe? (!) Is it the result of a built-in bias in the metrics?

For a moment let us discard the "skewed metrics" theory. The question that remains is:

What went wrong with the socialism of India, China, Czech Republic, Bulgaria, Slovakia, Russia yet works for these countries?

PS: I had a fun 2 hours playing around with data. Another delectable tool for data handling is GapMinder. Check it out! Playing around with data could lead to interesting observations and voila you have a theory of your own!

PPS: What was the purpose of all this? In addition to raising some questions, I also wanted to demonstrate how to go about thinking about national development. I also observed that in the western world, there is a lot of obsession with development and growth. Maybe we could take a lesson or two from that.

A Matter of Perspective

I came across the following video from a friend's GTalk status message. You would have most probably watched this video, either on someone's status message or in a forward. It would have definitely provoked some emotion simply because every viewer identifies himself or herself with one of the respondents on the video. In that way, it is a pretty nice video. 

But it was interesting to see the comments. Some people got moved and agreed wholeheartedly. Whereas some others took the "heretical" stand and said, "Spend. That is the way to boost the economy". However, I was interested in some other things about the video.

a) Let us take the methodology. It is a survey and the question is fairly straight forward. "What would you do if you got Rs. 500?" Usually respondents are anonymous in a survey. It makes sense because that way people are likely to be more forthright with their opinions. On the other hand, this "survey" seems to reinforce the stereotypes. All the young people seem to have "frivolous" wants i.e piercings, booze (oh no!) and smokes (oh no no!), eating joints etc. And clearly, the sponsors of the video had a motive, there was a message they wanted to convey. So you can expect the responses to have been chosen with a bias. 

The reason this point occurred to me was I would have never said some of these things if I knew I was being filmed. My actual response would have been (if the survey were anonymous) "500... I will spend it on food." What would have happened is that it would have got spent on food, alcohol or a bus trip to Chennai. If I knew it were on TV, I would have said,"Buy a ticket to go home by Volvo bus" (Awww... :P) I think there is a term in Kotler for this, but I will call it "Posing effects". How you pose the question i.e wording as well as environment affects response in a very strong manner. (Is it called Framing Effects?)

Therefore, I am pleasantly surprised that some people were frank enough to admit what they really wanted. In Indian society, I believe there is a lot of false humility and false virtuousity that goes around (yours truly included) and if people are coming on TV and saying what they would really think, 3 cheers for that. 

Another feature of presenting such a survey is that the viewer cannot help forming a moral judgement on the respondent, because the viewer now has well... additional data - body language, face, clothes etc. Imagine an older person seeing the guy who said he would get a piercing or the girl who said she would get a haircut, the temptation to form a judgement is inevitable. Again, the question is just "What would you do if got Rs. 500?" The respondents may not have known the context their responses were going to be presented in. It may appear that some people are staggeringly selfish. But how do you know the respondent does not do some sort of charity already. If I gave Rs. 1000 from my income as a habit to charity and spent this Rs. 500 on alcohol would that make me good or bad? Also I don't mean to trivialize but if you asked a kid how he/she would spend money, the response can never be booze or smoke or even piercings.

Again I think I am overthinking this. The video is pretty nice at the end of the day and very very thought provoking. I only wished they had shown the responses and left the ending as a question and let the viewer take away his/her own message. This led me to a different string of thought that I have published here.

The Rich Merchant

A rich man once gave his son 500 gold coins* for a trip the latter was going on. Once the son returned he inquired about his journey. After dispensing with the pleasantries, he came to the question he had been itching to ask.

"So son... was the money enough? How much did you spend?", he enquired

"500 gold coins", the son said.

"Haha... that was the amount I gave you. How much is left?"

"Nothing is left. First day we went on this boat trip, then had this delicious dinner..."

"What?! You mean to say you have no money left after the trip?", the father asked in an alarmed tone

"Was I supposed to?", the son said, bewildered.

The father snapped.

"You wastrel, you idiot, you pampered brat! This irresponsibility is your mother's fault! There was a time in my life I could not afford three square meals a day. At your age if my father had given me 50 gold coins, I would have spent 10, told him that I spent 25, put the 15 coins in the bank and returned the rest. I was expecting this kind of sharpness from you. Instead, you come and stand before me having spent everything. At this rate, you will just eat away all the wealth that I have amassed with so much care. What do you have to say for your irresponsibility?"

The son regarded the tirade coolly. He was used to it.

"Your father was poor, so you had to scrounge. My father is rich, so I don't have to!"

*******************************************************************************

While this may seem frivolous, the fact is the retort is absolutely spot on. It is amazing how many authorities do not grasp the significance of this simple moral. Contexts change, moral views change, outlooks change. The best strategy to preempt rebellion is to take the European way and create a space for new outlooks within the existing framework.

Ah... Rangeela

(Some parts of this post may Not Suitable For Work. I can rest easy knowing that this warning will cause more people to read it. It is just like those videos on youtube which are flagged. You may not pay attention to them if they weren't. But if they are you almost definitely end up watching it :))

Whatever may have been the lofty intentions behind the invention of the internet, one of the biggest consequences has been the infinite avenues to vettiness. Remember how the Internet was sold when it came to India, some drivel on how it was the information superhighway or something. The real reason was known to Generation X. (or Y... I always get confused) It was a porn superhighway, sowing seeds of perversion that the Indian mind had never known before. Honestly, before the internet how many of you thought the organ used for ingestion could be used for anything other than that. (Chee Cheee....)

Anyway, I digress. (As usual... humph) Coming back to the infinite avenues of vettiness, none is better than youtube. Youtube? In a world of bandwidth shortage by using Youtube for vettiness am I not cheating all those who have got on the internet in search of information! Hahaha... I know it is scary, sometimes I look out of my hedonist life!

Moreover, Scandinavia can be faulted for a few things (being perfect and boring?) but none can fault it for bandwidth. Does it not warm the cockles of your heart when you can just watch a youtube video without having to buffer it. It would also warm other parts of your anatomy when you can watch the other site starting with "you" without having to buffer it :P

One of the nice features for aiding vettiness is the related videos tab they give. I started from somewhere and landed on this. For those who are not in a position to see it, the link is a video of the song "Tanha Tanha" from Rangeela and it immediately triggered one of those nostalgic trips.

This song made my jaw drop when I first saw it and I still think it would win an award for the category "Songs Showcasing Pretty Things in Small Clothes" category. I am sure it would have ruled the Superhit Muqabla charts. Anyway, note that it is very gracefully done and there is more a feeling of mischief than obscenity. People go gaga over this (Babuji** Zara Dheere Chalo) and the Bipasha number in that film which was supposed to be a remake of Othello, but I don't know.
As far as the song goes, obviously Rehman killed it and Asha Bhonsle's dusky voice has just the right lilt to enchant you, but it is really the beach, Urmila and her perfect legs that makes the song what it is.

The opening sequence is the stuff dreams are made of. (Not the soul uplifting variety of dreams but... ok ok, it is getting boring, I get it!) Urmila Mataondkar running down the beach, her hair flailing freely in the wind, dressed in a white underthing gives a sense of freedom, liberation but most importantly the pleasure of seeing a hot girl run in skimpy clothes. Of course, we are Indians so no bikinis! But this song has been so well shot that you don't miss the bikini! Sigh... life!

My last blog post was a weepy whiny one on the meaning of life. Who needs that when Urmila tops Tanha Tanha in the same film with this yummy number. She looks "...saucier than a direct hit on a Heinz factory". Amen to that.

** Talking of Babuji, curiously that is how the bouncers in Roppongi Tokyo used to solicit Indian looking people. (me at least) More curiously, almost all the bouncers from Shinjuku to Roppongi were swarthy Africans and it can be kind of intimidating when such a guy calls out to a scrawny-almost-pure-vegetarian like yours truly. "Babuji, wanna have a good time" was the sales pitch with the bro twang and the perfectly white teeth. See, that is what gets my goat. Whatever happens I can never get my teeth as white as them Africans. Life can be unfair!

A Proposal for a Market for Trading Bunks

The inspiration for this idea is a certain course whose classes are quite drab. Much to my chagrin I realized that I had unknowingly exhausted my quota of bunks and am doomed to attend all the classes henceforth. The distant reader has no idea of the torture that yours truly undergoes! The torture is not so much the class itself, rather the fact that I had chosen this course as an elective i.e out of my own volition and hence have no one else to blame.

Then it occurred to me that certain individuals do not bunk classes at all or, at any rate never use, nor even intend to use up their full quota. Let us call these people who have the bunking quota to be “possessors of bunks”. Therefore, (the logical mind thinks), on the one hand we have people who need bunks and on the other hand we have those that are not particularly enthusiastic about the said bunks.

Eureka! There is a market here! Before we get into the details, there is an assumption here. The assumption is that the penalty for not meeting attendance requirements is hefty and it is strictly enforced. If it is not strictly enforced or the bunk penalty is not significant, there is no need for a market. Just suck up to whomsoever it may concern when you are in trouble!

The question begs to be asked and I shall ask it “Why do some individuals not bunk?” For us to build a market there must be an economic motivation underlying bunking/non-bunking which gives value to it in the first place. That economic value is value of time. If I think I would be better off sleeping that attending class then there is an incentive to bunk. This is important from the non-bunkers’ side. There are two species of non-bunkers.

There are some who derive a moralistic pleasure out of non-bunking i.e for these folks “non-bunking” is a way of creating a moral pedestal, a way of telling the world, “I am more perfect than you because I don’t bunk, you depraved turd.” Sadly, there is no cure known for moralists and these people shall grow on to becoming social activists, cause fighters, prohibitionists and other generally undesirable elements of society. In fact, my belief is that, as much harm is done by people who set out to do “good”, as those who set out to do “bad”. For who decides what is good and bad? If he who doth bad, doth not think it is good from his viewpoint, he would not do it, would he?

The second class of bunkers would be my target audience. These people go to class with a none-to-sure emotion. Years of being sincere makes them feel that missing class, would somehow do them harm, but basically they are kids who would like to have a good time in life. They just have a voice in their heads which keeps on chiming “After all, there is a chance that something significant could be done in class…” Correction, all of us have that voice, just that some of us have stopped listening to it a long time ago. However even they know that some classes are just a drag. More fundamentally, they have nothing better to do with their times. Nothing better to do with their time. Therefore, if these possessors of bunks could be compensated with something for their time, then there is a chance they would bunk.

Out of this crucial insight flows the market for bunking. As a first step, let us assume that only bunks can be traded for a particular subject. Therefore, is we have some course, say Creative Financial Accounting 101 and 60 people take it, then the bunks are traded only within these 60. We develop a software system where each guy in the class offers his bunks for sale or bids for bunks.

A system would look like this:


Since it is only one course, the same guy cannot buy and sell bunks. However, there is one issue here. What if someone sells bunks without having enough of them? Why would he/she do that? In an educational setting, you know everyone usually. But what if it is a huge campus? And what if the market for bunks is irrational and over-pricing it? Then maybe someone would profit by selling bogus bunks.

This is where the assumption fits in. If the penalty is strictly enforced, then the seller of bogus bunks does not have the incentive to sell it, because he/she is putting his degree in jeopardy.

But anyway, just to prevent any irrational behaviour, we can have an additional field for available bunks so that people boycott bogus bunk sellers.

But this kind of a system is really not very optimal. In our example, Middleton may not like Creative Financial Accounting but he may like the course “How to make Common Sense Sound Sophisticated” while Middleshwar may prefer the latter to the former. In this case, they end up taking these courses, and because of our first requirement, their pool of bunks is restricted to their respective classmates. To solve the problem, we relax the requirement of bunks being traded only within a section. Therefore, if an individual takes 5 courses and he/she is allowed 5 bunks per course, then that individual has 25 bunks to trade.

One thorny issue remains. What if Middleton takes Creative Financial Accounting as well as “How to Make Common Sense Sound Sophisticated” (HTMCS3) and the former course has marks for attendance while the latter does not. Can that individual transfer bunks to himself free of cost or should he pay the market rate for HTMCS3 bunks? Till now we have also implicitly assumed that there is no agency like an exchange.

Again, going back to what we have said, the 25 bunks is Middleton’s property. Therefore, he/she should be allowed to transfer it free of charge. But as such I am not in favour of it.
The better system would be to insist that Middleton pay the going rate for HTMCS3 bunks.

Voila! Again we apply the power of Adam Smith’s invisible hand to setup a most satisfactory system for allocating one’s time. Sigh, if only someone would implement it.

The Hotel at TinStop Hill (Concluded)

(The Second part of the story, The Hotel at TinStop Hill. The first part may be found here. If you have not read the first part, it really does not matter. You could read that after this one)

The Mysterious Mr. Travistock took a thoughtful puff on his cigar. “Capital”, he muttered, looking into the distance. He could have been referring to the quality of his Cuban cigar or the source of his single biggest problem. After an interval of five minutes, he looked back at the papers strewn across his mahogany table. It was an antique table once gracing the study of the King’s Advisor of the Isle of Sumatra. The table had a unique scent which put his mind to peace and helped him concentrate.

Mr. Travistock had unique powers of concentration. He could do many things at once. It was as if his brain was compartmentalized into strictly exclusive parts and each piece of information went into the relevant slot. This was best illustrated in the manner in which he dealt with the papers strewn across the big table.

On one side, lay the latest version of a catalog of antique lamps. In front of him lay papers on a new project he was working upon, his next venture (hopefully) and to the other end lay the papers concerning the Hotel at TinStop Hill. Watching the mysterious Mr. Travistock at work was indeed an experience. He would pick the catalog, flip through it two, three times, then suddenly seize a bunch of papers on the Hotel at TinStop Hill and make furious notings and then just as suddenly go back to the catalog. To an external observer the movements seemed sporadic/random and irritating. It was this tendency that had made him conclude very early on that he would never take a partner for his business or in fact, work too much with other people if he could avoid doing so.

Just earlier that day he had got the news of Jim’s resignation. It did not affect him. He was glad in a way. He respected Jim too much to tell him that he had to leave. He hoped it would start a wave of panic that would result in everyone leaving. But he knew that would not happen. Human beings after all had to stick on to that damned thing called hope even if reality came and slapped them on their faces, he thought cruelly.

As per the contract there were no liabilities to the Hotel at TinStop Hill if they resigned. He felt nothing at all, for as far as he was concerned they had been extremely well compensated.

His biggest worry was with respect to the finances. It looked like he was going to lose money and a considerable amount at that. That per se did not affect him. The Mysterious Mr. Travistock had started as a Tobacconist (under his real name, that no one knew today) and was a compulsive entrepreneur. No, he was actually a compulsive gambler but his bets were on companies. Starting from a humble tobacconist, the Mysterious Mr. Travistock had grown to be one of the richest men in the world. Yet, being a borderline misanthrope, he went to often crazy limits to avoid human interaction and no one knew the actual identity of the man. This was in direct contrast with the rest of his peers who threw money lavishly in a desperate bid to showcase their wealth.

Looking at the papers of the Hotel at TinStop Hill, Mr. T finally let out a sigh. This was going to be a loss. No way out. Again, that morning he had had pieces removed from the Grand Steps to Serendip and auctioned them. They had been sold at a considerable loss, which had in fact crashed the market as well, but he needed the inflow to keep the venture afloat. That caused a momentary pang of panic in him and Mr. T chided himself for allowing a human emotion to affect him.

He laid down the papers and took the drink in his hand. He stood up and approached the window. It was time for reflection. Clearly, he had taken risk he could not handle. The Hotel at TinStop Hill had been envisioned as the ultimate and default destination for powerbroking. He had hoped to build a kind of International power centre at his Hotel. The first few days went like a dream. The crème de la crème of the world’s political stage wanted to come to the Hotel at TinStop Hill. The conversations carried out were of the greatest import and the Hotel provided a plethora of communication facilities, anti-bugging devices, motion sensors and anything else that caught the fancy of the world’s elite security agencies. The access to those devices was controlled by Mr. T himself and a few select individuals. With time tremendous pressure came to be applied on these individuals by rival intelligence agencies in a battle for information. Of course, Mr. T did anticipate all that, and his whole idea had been to provide trust in return for exorbitant amounts of money. When he had started, he had been extremely clear on one thing which was that he would not compromise on integrity, come what may.

He was not unduly worried about personal security. His house, a bungalow that he had bought on TinStop Hill, from a dying old ammunitions baron who had no children, was equipped with the latest security devices in the world. Also, no unnatural deaths ever occurred in the TinStop bungalows, the repercussions would be too much.

However, with time, the pressure from a certain quarter had been too much to bear and he had crumbled, letting out information on one deal. Somehow, and he never understood how, for he had extracted a number of concessions to safeguard him and his business, the word got around and soon some of the most powerful organizations in the world started beating upon his door making all sorts of requests. And then literally, everything crumbled. He found himself caught in bizarre power plays that were eroding into his personal wealth. Such was the enormity of that wealth, the he was still amongst the richest, but the mental pressure had been quite in excess.

He caved and struck a number of compromises which essentially ensured that his career was dead. The negotiations had sickened the usually unemotional Mr. Travistock. As mentioned earlier, he loathed unnecessary human contact. He found human beings terribly petty and insecure. More irritatingly, a set of insecure human beings always seemed to gang up and stifle those who appeared to be secure. In many of these negotiations, he felt he had seen a sadistic glimmer in the eyes of men, who were keen to see the Mysterious Mr. Travistock on his knees.

As he returned to his table, he was too strong, he would not sink. But clearly to continue swimming, he would need another identity. The Mysterious Mr. Travistock took out a piece of paper, scribbling furiously…

The Hotel At TinStop Hill

(Warning: Looong story. But I am sure it kind of "flows" once you start reading :))

Jim Hardy wearily trudged his way along the stone path coiling up TinStop hill. The silver tipped walking stick made a rhythmic sound that Jim found helpful in concentrating on the problem that was bothering him. It was a dark cloudy day and that mirrored the state of his mind, clichéd as it may seem.

The Hotel on TinStop Hill had been opened with much fanfare. TinStop Hill took its name from the famed TinStop Bungalows located at the top of the hill. The TinStop Bungalows were the homes to some of the richest and most powerful men in the world. More noteworthy was the fact that most of the families here had achieved and held this power and money for more than a hundred years. The TinStop bungalows were spoken of as the most exclusive residential address in the world.

Jim Hardy remembered the day he got the call from the mysterious Mr. Travistock. Until then Jim had been the manager of the reputed Grand Orient at Winston’s Hillock. The Grand Orient had been built by a billionaire and boasted of one of the most impressive art collections for a hotel. Jim had joined there as a waiter at one the restaurants and over a period of two decades had become the manager of the hotel. His able management of the hotel coupled with the special care he lavished on the art collection had attracted the mysterious Mr. Travistock’s attention.

The interview process had been... mysterious to say the least. He had been asked to enter the basement of a decrepit garage, where he was received by a solitary Butler. He was then blindfolded and ushered into Mr. Travistock’s presence. Once the interview started, Jim could sense that the chamber he was in was one of immense luxury. The blindfolded interview had been quite thorough and professional. The mysterious Mr. Travistock was clearly an expert in the luxury industry. Jim also felt that he was a gentleman of fine breeding and his taste was exquisite. Clearly, the mysterious Mr. Travistock was not one of those rich men with common taste, masquerading as though they were of finer pedigree. Jim always lifted his right eyebrow involuntarily when he approved of a customer and felt that the latter was indeed a gentleman and lifted his left eyebrow when the customer was not. After many years in the industry, he had developed an instinct as to whether a customer had money and class. Money could buy many things, but it could never buy class, he was fond of saying. Everyone from the footman to the deputy manager caught on to this and there was active speculation on which side a customer has been “eyebrow”ed. The mysterious Mr. Travistock had been "eyebrow"ed right.

The interview was exacting and the mysterious Mr. Travistock was a perfectionist. After the interview, Jim was offered a meal, which he had to eat blindfolded. However, the waiters at the table were excellent and he had had a satisfying meal. As he was escorted out, Jim was informed that he should make no effort to contact them or even make inquiries of the mysterious Mr. Travistock and that they would get back to him. As Jim navigated a curve on his way to the Hotel at TinStop Hill, he reflected that the behaviour that day was quite an accurate reflection of the nature of his professional engagement with Mr. Travistock’s establishment. He had powers only on very basic operational issues. When he dealt with anything bigger, he felt as if he were working blindfolded. Maybe Mr. Travistock should have been "eyebrow"ed left. But he was a gentleman!

A week after that surreal interview, Jim received a big package. The interview seemed like a dream to Jim when recollected it. He opened the package to find an exquisitely made crystal vase which appeared to have a shiny gold box in the shape of a treasure chest. He extracted the curious treasure chest, to see a small scroll that announced his selection to the post of the manager of the Hotel at TinStop Hill. Jim smiled, glad that he had impressed a man of such fine taste, but shrugged and put the gold box in his drawer. He was satisfied at The Grand Orient and saw no need to make a change in his life. He liked stability.

As Jim entered the dining room of the Elgin Club later that evening, he noticed a sudden change in the way he was received. The Elgin club was a meeting place for those involved with the hospitality industry in the area and evidently word had got around of Jim’s appointment.

Anthony, the Manager of The Ancient Oak, was the first to congratulate Jim.

“Heard about your appointment. Mighty impressive, getting the nod of approval from the mysterious Mr. Travistock!”, he said

“How did you know about it?”, Jim asked in surprise

“Everyone is talking about it. Don’t think you were the only one called. All the managers in this club were called and by getting this appointment, you have proven yourself to be the best in your job!”, Tony said with a wistful smile

“Is it so? I really did not know the importance of the...”

“Are you kidding? The mysterious Mr. Travistock has decided that this is going to be the magnum opus of his life. His ambition is to open the ultimate venue in world power broking and deal broking...”, Anthony said but was interrupted by a waiter calling him away for a phone call.

The waiter smiled and added, “And may I offer my congratulations, Sir”

Jim was puzzled.

How did the mysterious Mr. Travistock get access to an address on TinStop Hill? As far as he knew, no one by the name of Travistock held residence on the TinStop bungalows. Maybe that explained why he had been blindfolded. Could Mr. Travistock be of an honourable family that fell into bad times and was trying to make up for that? Even if it were true, the families in the TinStop bungalows were of the highest reputation and if indeed this was an honourable venture why would they hide their name?

Edward Elgin, the owner of the Elgin Club came up to Jim.

“May I offer the future manager of the Hotel on TinStop Hill a glass of our finest whiskey?”, he asked with a congratulatory smile

Edward Elgin was an old friend of Jim’s and was a great admirer of the way Jim ran the Grand Orient. He often benchmarked his own comparatively modest club to that of the Grand Orient.

“Look, how did you know the name of my appointment? Or for that matter even the name of the Hotel?”, Jim demanded

“Why wouldn't I be? Just as you were sent a crystal vase with the gold box, all those called for an audience with the mysterious Mr. Travistock got a bronze vase with a silver chest informing of their failure and your success. There was a similar arrangement for the chef, right down to even the footmen! Getting into the Hotel on TinStop Hill at any level is like winning the Oscars for that category or that is how the mysterious Mr. Travistock has made it to be!”, Edward replied

“But who is this mysterious Mr. Travistock? Is he one of the TinStop families?”, Jim asked

“Ah...”, Edward paused and looked around. Then with a jovial smile led Jim to his room and closed the door.

“I am not sure if I am supposed to be saying this, but I have a cousin who works for the mysterious Mr. Travistock at a very close level. Apparently, Mr. T is an art dealer of some sort who grew close to the TinStop families.”, Edward whispered

“But how did he get property on TinStop Hill for a hotel, however grandiose its intentions may be? Isn’t that supposed to be exclusive?”, Jim asked

“Yes! People are talking of the very same thing. There is one rumour that perhaps Mr. Travistock is blackmailing one of the TinStop families. I find that ludicrous for they could simply crush such a guy without lifting a finger. My cousin believes that the most plausible explanation could be that one of the TinStop families did not have an heir and he got it as a trustee or something”, Edward speculated.

“But I like the Grand Orient. I see absolutely no reason to change”, Jim said

“Ah, but you are being paid so much... aren’t you?”, Edward asked surprised

“What! Even I have not heard of my prospective pay and the street knows about it?”, Jim asked incredulously

Edward said smilingly, “Ah... I have heard but rumours. If indeed they turn out to be true, you are going to find it pretttty hard to resist the lure.”

“No. I don’t think so. I have all the money I need. It is just that... this whole air of mystery does not augur well in my opinion. I run The Grand Orient in an open manner. Any of my subordinates can come and talk to me. I would never treat them like this...” Jim continued

Jim sighed as he started the ascent of the Grand Steps To Serendip. The Grand Steps to Serendip was a kilometer’s climb which led to the hotel entrance. There was an escalator nearby as well as a shuttle service Jim could have called. He just wanted to postpone entering his office.

As he climbed the stairs, he winced. The marble statues that adorned the entrance were missing. There was no point in calling the police. A month ago, one such piece of art was missing from the foyer. When he reported it to the police, he got a message from the mysterious Mr. Travistock forbidding him from going to the police without consulting the latter first. The reason given was that the fair name of the Hotel at TinStop Hill should not be dragged into the press. A week ago Jim read in the papers that an objet d'art had been auctioned for a record amount. On closer inspection of the picture, it seemed to Jim that it resembled the missing piece. Jim was long suspecting the Hotel at TinStop Hill was in grave financial situations, but he himself had no idea of the exact state. Astonishingly, for a manager of the Hotel, he had no idea who or how the clients paid the Hotel or for that matter how much the fares were. He received no replies for such questions and had come to accept the silence.

Despite his objections, when the call did come, Jim found out that the pay had been indeed... obscene. He could retire in a few years but more than that, as Edward told him, he looked upon the compensation as some sort of recognition for his ability, a neutral metric for his talent.

The Hotel at TinStop Hill began with a bang alright. Some of the most important meetings in the world began to be scheduled there. Jim was stressed, dazzled and intimated by the events of significance that he would have to handle without any mistake whatsoever. However, he went about it with a new energy. Being close to some of the most important actors in world politics gave him the feeling that he played a small but crucial role in the play.* In the beginning, the job was indeed intoxicating.

All the people in the Hotel at TinStop Hill were the best at what they did. There was little need for instruction and people picked up on problems well. After two years of operation, Jim felt that he was indeed on top of his profession. There were lots of perks too. He was made a member of many a club. He even gave a speech to the local school on Hotel Management as a career choice rivaling that of any of the other conventional professions.

However, just as suddenly as the Hotel at TinStop Hill had started its rise, the Hotel started on its slide. Meetings and conferences started getting canceled at the last moment. More embarrassingly for Jim, some of the cancellations were done by the mysterious Mr. Travistock. Once a meeting had been canceled by Mr. Travistock after some delegates had arrived. Jim bore the brunt of the guests’ ire. What frustrated Jim was the fact that the action was patently unfair! All these conferences were of great import and the guests were eminent men in their own right. Treating them in that manner was just not civil!

The morale took a dive. All the people in the Hotel at TinStop Hill were good at what they did and they blamed themselves initially. They just worked harder and better. But customers grew more irate. After some more months, the Assistant Chef was fired for no ostensible reason.

And then Jim saw it happening in front of his eyes. The whole Hotel started coming apart. People started suspecting each other. Jim was the object of a vicious rumour campaign. But he tried harder. These were people of great professional bearing. They had been selected very carefully. Jim reasoned that there must be a way to work things out. Like the rest of them he blamed himself for not being innovative in solving the problem. He read books on better management, attended seminars on reviving organizations, turned to the ancient tomes for wisdom. He initiated a weekly group meeting so that everyone could air their concerns. Slowly, these meetings were hijacked by a few self righteous and over eager speakers and the rest became indifferent to it. They even went on a camp outing together. The camp outing was illuminating in a way. They discussed their problems and after a point got into circles. Then everyone lost interest and people split into their various groups and went their own way.

Jim crossed the beautiful garden between the Grand Steps of Serendip and his office. There was a pebble stone path that Jim liked to walk upon. He liked the sound his footsteps made on the pebble stone. The action that he was about to take was well reasoned.

He had many pleas to the mysterious Mr. Travistock for more participation. What brought the normally docile Jim to the point of blind fury was the fact that he could not even reach the mysterious Mr. Travistock. He usually posted his communication to the “gentleman”! Jim had had enough it all. There was a frustration and pent up anger in the very air of the Hotel. Or maybe that was Jim’s feeling.

Jim sat at his desk and took out his letter head to write his resignation letter. Despite all the anger, Jim was deferential in his letter. He knew no other way to write. As he was halfway through his resignation letter, he saw a rectangular marble box, around half a foot long. Intrigued, he opened it to find a note that read:

Mr. Jim Hardy,

I regret to inform you that due to circumstances beyond my control I would have to let go off you. You are a great professional and I trust other establishments would be more than happy to have your services. Please make no attempt to seek any explanation for this letter.

Later, when Jim recollected this incident he was struck by the fact that the first feeling he experienced was one of relief. Then he felt furious for being treated this way. He wanted to leave without a word to anyone. He stormed out of the office, but after he walked halfway through the pebble stone path, his usual dedication prevented him from walking further. He walked back, pinned the note on the Announcement Board for Employees and walked away. He knew all hell would break loose. He could not care less.

Releasing Next Monday: The Mysterious Mr. Travistock Muses

(*After reading the story I realized that I have been greatly influenced by "The Remains of the Day" by Kazuo Ishiguro. It is a great book and a strongly recommended read)

Big Man, Mad Dog and Velachery Vimala

(Mandatory Warning: Not suitable at the work place. Not suitable for kids. Lots of expletives. Read at your own peril.)

A young man stood on the edge of the Napier Bridge looking at the indifferent Cooum river flowing below. His life was worthless. The one woman he had loved passionately had dumped him. He re-read the letter that she had written to him as if reading it another time would change the words. In that letter she informed him about how they had been immature; how they had wrongly misunderstood their love to be pure and eternal. “When the body itself was transient how then could love be eternal?”, she had skilfully reasoned. But his heart did not allow that. There was such a thing as true love. And in fact, he was going to prove it. He would die and haunt her memories. She, unable to take the pain would die too and they would re-unite in heaven. However, looking at the Cooum below, the reasoning did not seem so compelling, suddenly.

“Sir, love failure?”, a voice called out, causing the young man to jump a bit, but not enough to die. There was an elderly, kindly looking old man smiling at him.

“Why don’t you step down? If the police sees you like this, they will first fine you and then never allow you to die. Then you will just be in a lose-lose situation”, the old man said and started guffawing at his own "joke".

The young man was drunk with love yes, but not drunk, so he saw the sense in the old man’s advise and he stepped down.

“Your true love has left you eh? Sorry let me qualify that. Your one, true love has left you huh?”, the old man asked. The young man nodded listlessly.

“Well dying or not dying is your choice and I am not anyone to preach. But I am reminded of a story. Why don’t you postpone your decision until then?”

The young man again nodded listlessly. He reasoned that listening to the old man, any old man, would itself take him closer to death and if anything just help him in his cause.

The old man began:

Owner Manickam grimaced, looking at the four people sitting in the “special table” at the Mahalakshmi Wines (With Bar Attached). It was nearing midnight and the boys had long shooed away the usual hangers-on, the type who clung to the bar like barnacles to a ship, in the hope that some generous benefactor bestows a free “quarter”. Usually the threat of police scared away those types, but the problem with the people remaining that day was that the police would never do anything to them; in fact, they set the rules for the latter.

"Verinaay” (Mad Dog) Vinayagam roared (with what seemed to Manickam) an evil laugh, for the umpteenth time in the evening. He continued regaling his over-eager cohorts on some exploits or the other. If it wasn’t some daredevil act of his right under the police’s nose, it was about the various dalliances with the leading whores of the city. Beads of perspiration glistened on Manickam’s balding head.

Behind Manickam’s perennially ingratiating smile and the over exaggerated shows of servility, lay an extremely sharp mind. In fact, he went to great extents to disguise his ambitious nature and instead don the role of the “jolly good fellow”. He planned some of his by now famous witticisms, to the last second. Unlike a lot of others, he really never wanted to be in this business. He genuinely believed liquor spoilt lives and was himself a staunch teetotaler. But his shrewd mind told him this was a fantastic business to get him rich. It was, when he had got into the business. His shop was the preferred shop for treats, any big occasions and so on. In fact, he ran such a good place that buying stuff from his store itself seemed to bestow legitimacy to the alcohol. He had a good control over his unit and unlike most places kept his place very clean. He was a terror for his helper boys, whom he would whip if he caught them with the liquor. In fact, such was the image of his shop that parents did not mind their boys working there for a quick extra buck. But now with more stores nearby and more goons to grease he saw his pie shrinking. It was getting a thankless business. However, Manickam had a shrewd nose for real estate and had invested early, with much of his land worth more than twenty times what he bought it at. In fact, he expected the IT corridor to increase the value even more and was planning to sell once it reached twenty five times the value.

That particular day began badly for him. One of the newer thugs demanded a piece of land owned by Manickam at much less than what it could be sold for. However, the said thug was well connected and Manickam had no choice and he had as usual, meekly acquiesced. The jolly eyes wore a melancholic look throughout the day. Then Mad Dog came. Just studying his body language, Manickam knew there was going to be trouble.

Vinayagam had always been a never-do-good. It was therefore not surprising when he took to the murkier side of the law. His ferocity was legendary, the reputation being mostly engineered, with shreds of truth here and there. Vinayagam had always been admiring and respectful of Manickam as a wise man and sough counsel. For the past few days, Manickam saw a change in Vinayagam’s body language. He no longer asked anything, just ordered for it. Many amateurs had fallen for this way at the peak of their success. Mad Dog was gaining a reputation as a fantastic shooter. But what Manickam always feared was that this man, Mad Dog, had a definitely evil streak. Nothing in the world could constrain an atheist, incapable of feeling love.

When he was feeling down, Manickam liked to take a walk to look at what he had created. And he had indeed created something. It was his way of re-assuring himself that despite the odds he had built this shop and he would continue to beat the odds. The shop and the bar were in a house given to him by the Big Man, the guardian of the area. Big Man had ruled the roost for the past thirty years and it was generally understood his able son would succeed him when the old man got tired. The house had been a four room house with a small garden by the side. The walls had been demolished save for one room that served as the store. The “Bar Attached” was simply the leftover area with an asbestos covering.

Manickam now went to the four who were quite drunk by now. One guy was slumped over his chair just laughing continuously as if he were afraid that if he stopped laughing Mad Dog would do something to him.

“What Mad Dog, no work and all tomorrow eh?”, Manickam said with a mock laugh.

“Yes old man, we are young, rich and have no permanent whores to keep pestering us all the time. I tell you, if I were you, I would never have got married…”, Vinayagam slurred.

“It is said that even the stray buffaloes want to settle sometime. Did you know the story of the buffalo that went and put it in the wrong hole and…”

“Eh old man, that is why they have vayagra nowadays. How will you understand or afford all this? How will I explain it to someone of your generation. Hmm... see, imagine an old moped. Old mopeds don't start quickly. They have a starting problem. Then what do we do? We kick start it with greater force. Vayagra will kick start yours like that. Here take some money and buy yourself some”, saying this, he threw some money and the cohorts fell of the chair laughing. One of them repeatedly slapped the ground in mirth before puking and collapsing on that.

Manickam was really trying to hold his anger now. However, he simply retorted, “Unlike some people, we do not have the luxury of setting our times. I have to be awake by 6 tomorrow. Why don’t you guys go home? I will send some stuff with you.”

“Free?”, Mad Dog smirked.

“Yes, free. If it is not for the rising sun, who else will I give?”, he said sarcastically.

Manickam heaved a sigh of relief as Mad Dog stumbled up, threw seven crisp thousand rupee notes and told the others to get up. Just then, he heard the sound of a car, a Sumo he reckoned and his heart started beating crazily. Could it be the Big Man himself?

It was the Big Man accompanied only by his Secretary. (And this not being a Bond film or porn film, the "secretary" was a burly mottai boss/bald "Bhim boy" type of character) The Big Man stepped out in an agitated manner.

“Mad Dog, what have you been upto today?”, he asked with ice in his voice. A knot gripped Manickam’s stomach and he felt a buzz in his head. There was going to be blood today!

“Eh? Son of a hair counter... who is that? Just because someone comes up and asks me what I have been upto, I need not answer. The whole city shakes to the name of Mad Dog…”

“Bastard, son of a whore, Mad Dog it seems. Castrated dickless dog. What did I tell you to do?”

“Oh it is you. Sorry Big Man, sometimes even God's bulb switches off. Then we need spotlight. Manickam show some light so that we can see our God in his Vishwaroopam”, Mad Dog said flippantly.

“Shut up you ungrateful turd...” Manickam rushed forward as if to slap him.

“You do not get into this, it is between us”, Big Man ventured forth. He looked at Mad Dog squarely in the eye and said, “I told you to go to Villiwakkam”

“I went there…” Mad Dog stammered

“I told you to arrange a matter…”

“I arranged it for that party…”

“Then you were supposed to meet me in the camp…”

“I was heading in that direction…”

“Yes, motherfucker, you were heading in the direction, then why didn’t you reach me at 7 in the evening. Did you lose your microscopic dick on the way?”

No answer.

“You were in Velachery. What the fuck were you doing there? Counting the hair on your nether parts…”

Still, no answer.

The Big Man took out a gun and thrust it into his mouth. The fear of God flashed in Mad Dog’s eyes. He flushed. It was as if all the alcohol drained out of his mouth in an instance.

“Why did you go to that house? What the fuck made you think you can get away with that?”

“Sir, sir you are too big for all this. Let your smaller men take care of him. Just beat him up to show your power, guns are excessive. The bastard just needs to be put in place”, Manickam pleaded.

The Big Man ignored him and looked Mad Dog straight in the eye. Mad Dog motioned as if he wanted to speak. He had actually got over the shock of the gun now and his mind was racing.

“Manickam get out of the place! Now!” roared the Big Man

Manickam scurried out, sobbing.

“Now… Mad Dog I have been watching you. You think I don’t know that you have been sending out signals to my rivals. But in our line of that is all common, and in fact, it is a status symbol for me. I myself was going to reward you in due course. But how dare you try to lay your hands on…”

Suddenly, Mad Dog heard the sound of steel. One of his cohorts had hit Big Man on the head and Big Man fell down. Big Man’s secretary shot Mad Dog’s cohort and he died immediately. Mad Dog had by then reached for his revolver tucked under his lungi and shot Big Man’s secretary who too died immediately, blood spouting a red parabola from his heart.

A satanic look crept into Mad Dog’s eyes. He took aim at Big Man’s foot and shot. The big toe of the Big Man sundered and popped out and hit Mad Dog in his eyes. After the first shot had been fired, the whole neighbourhood woke up. Everyone peered out frightened from the window. Maniackam knew it was from his wine shop. He ran back hoping that he could counsel peace one last time…

At the moment Manickam entered the gate, he realized in a split second what happened and he screamed “Vinayagam…” at that very instant the sundered toe hit Mad Dog’s eyes. In an impulse of self defense Mad Dog, who was blinded in one eye and writhing in pain kept shooting in all directions and in the process two bullets pierced Manickam’s throat. For a few seconds Manickam’s body lurched in mid air as if unsure in which direction to fall, then it fell, face forward on the ground. At least he died on the very land that had kept him alive so long.

One of Mad Dog’s random bullets hit Big Man just as the latter was lurching for his gun. They both fired at each other simultaneously, both sundering each other’s arms below the elbow in the hand they held the gun. Suddenly, flashes of light invaded the compound. Cars of men stepped out and even the most hardened amongst them almost fainted at the gory. Amidst all the shock a female shriek rented the air. Despite the men restraining her Velachery Vimala, the bewitching and most captivating whore of city came running forward. The term “whore” would be most unsuitable for her. Descendant of a royal courtesan, a beauty uncommon to those of her condition shone on her face. She had always been the prize of the biggest don and Mad Dog had misbehaved to her in the afternoon that day.

Big Man had come to teach a lesson.

Vimala composed herself. She told the men she just wanted to kill that rascal, that bastard, that despicably low, mean, evil piece of excretion, thrown on earth that had killed the bravest man she knew and one whom she had truly loved. Big Man was a hero in many ways and few knew it as best as Vimala. She lifted the gun. Pointed the gun at Mad Dog and in a swift move, turned the gun and killed herself.

The men looked stunned. The son decided that this matter had to end. The man who did all this had to suffer. But before he could do anything, Mad Dog reached for his knife, staggered up and said, “Look, you mangy dogs, before you advance let me make it known that I want to die not because of cowardice that you, … you, will kill me. But I wish to die because my intemperate actions killed a pure love that is worth than more the lives of bastards who will whore for every paisa thrown on them. Maybe if I had known Vimala I would have known what it is being a human…” He speared himself.

The Old man stopped and paused.

“What is the moral?”, he asked.

The young man remained silent.

“You guys know jackshit about true love. Your sacrifice is absolutely useless if the other person is not going to respond with that intensity. Tell me, has your significant other ever shown such passion. Life is too precious for even a girl. There are many fish in the sea…”

“But this is not just any fish. I saw her in a restaurant first. Her name was Latha…”

The Treachery of Historical Analysis

(An excerpt from Monty Python’s Holy Grail)

Arthur: The Lady of the Lake-- her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite,
held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by
divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. THAT is why
I am your king!

Man: (laughingly) Listen: Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords
is no basis for a system of government! Supreme executive power
derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some... farcical
aquatic ceremony!

This small piece nicely illustrates the absurdities and contradictions that arise when one tries to interpret history in a modern context. More specifically, I have always suspected that analysing history in a “mathematical”, strictly logical manner is most often useless, perhaps even dangerous.

I had written a bit about this in one of my older blogs. This blog is meant to elaborate that idea. (For those who have read it already my apologies. Skip the part that is given in quotes and continue reading from thereon.)

“It is very interesting to speculate on the evolution of the University system since many of the rituals (if you can call it that) in a typical ceremony like the Convocation where degrees are awarded, do not fit into an Indian context at all. The use of Latin, the robes themselves and the whole atmosphere all seem to be vestiges of practises dating to perhaps, the monasteries of the Renaissance period.

Wait, did I say monasteries? Clearly, such a modern custom intended to venerate the sciences could not have its origins in a religious institution! The maximum extent of Science that would one would have expected in a monastery may have been the pursuit of alchemy. Why does this seem strange in the first place? It seems so because we have been trained to think that religion and science are polar opposites. But during the Renaissance, some of the biggest advances in intellectual thought were made by monks. Gregor Mendel of the Theory of Heredity is perhaps the most famous monk-scientist. Another one I recently came across was a Francisan Friar named Luca Pacioli, referred to as the Father of Accounting, for inventing the double entry book keeping system. Bayes’ Theorem is named after a Reverend Thomas Bayes.

I remember reading numerous other names which keep cropping up, especially in achievements related to mathematics. A possible reason could be that before the invention of printing, it was the job of monasteries to make copies of the ancient tomes of Egypt, Greece and Rome. Therefore, monks had an almost exclusive access to these works of great intellectual achievement. Therefore, monasteries may have played more important roles as centres of education.

Then why this divorce between Science and Religion and when did it occur? One can speculate that the separation of Science from Religion had to do something with the notion of separating Church from State which in turn traces its origins to the French Revolution. An interesting question arises: Were the persecution stories of Galileo and Copernicus played up by ideological forces interested in the separation of state and church?”

This is one intellectual tangle. Consider another case of historical analysis – the Aryan Migration Theory.

The logic of the Aryan Theory proceeds thus. It was postulated that one of the earliest settlements in human history was based near the Caspian Sea. Due to some reasons, the people there had to migrate. This settlement broke into three groups. One migrated to what is today India, one to Europe, occupying areas corresponding to modern day Germany and the third migrated to modern day Iran. The theory primarily arose from an observation that there were many similarities in languages between Sanskrit and Latin. Therefore, the people speaking these languages must have had some sort of common lineage. This is the genesis of the Indo-Aryan Language group. One of the leading names associated with this theory was Max Mueller though I do not know the precise nature of his contributions.

After this theory was propounded numerous re-interpretations of the Indian classics were attempted. Ramayana was portrayed as an epic struggle between the Aryan Rama and the Dravidian Ravana. Further supporting evidence was cited from the Epics and the Puranas. There is a story in the Ramayana where Rama and Lakshmana leave with Vishwamithra to get their education under him. As they go into the forest, Rakshasas attack them and those rakshasas are slain by the brave brothers. One interpretation of this goes as follows: It is possible that the migrating Aryans had first settled down in the fertile Ganges Valley in their migration to India. It is now known that King Dasharatha’s capital, Ayodhya is situated in modern day Uttar Pradesh. In their journey with Vishwamithra they may have forayed into areas previously occupied by tribal peoples. The dark skinned tribal people would have looked devilish to the fair Caspian Sea Aryans. This led to their classification as Rakshasas or as evil forces. Therefore, when Rama was vanquishing Raskshasas, for protection, we can also conclude equally well that he was conquering non-Aryans!

The concept of gothram is cited another evidence to this theory. The term gothras implies a set of people who are bound together as a tribe. The “go” in the gothras perhaps refers to the importance the set of people ascribed to cows. Therefore, the Aryans migrated from the Caspian in groups, in search of better sites for pasture. Migrating southward one group found India. In this migration, at times due to the lack of food, these people had to resort to eating cattle meat, which is why the Vedas records instances of sages eating beef. Once they came to a fertile place, like the Gangetic Plain, they settled down and the communities started venerating cows again as they were instrumental for the ploughing of land. This explains why some sects of Hinduism are vegetarians or at any rate, they oppose cow slaughter.

The Aryan Migration Theory propounded this way has had a deep effect on Indian history and world history. The Theory provided much ammunition to the anti-brahminical stance of the Periyar Movement as well as ideological inspiration for many a Hindu bigot. Hitler also conveniently embraced the Aryan theory to portray the German people as having a deeper heritage and culture than they had previously imagined. He then extended the theory to imply the racial purity of the now “Aryan” Germans.

The reason the theory caught on was because of its explanatory appeal. A lot of myths were supposedly “rationally” explained, rationality defined in the context of modern human thought. When I first heard the "Rakshasa angle" presented this way, I found it extremely convincing. Even today, there are many elites who subscribe to this theory, consciously or unconsciously.

However there is only one hitch. Linguistic evidence is not strong enough grounds for formulating such a theory. Linguistic similarities may have arisen due to commerce, trade or cultural interaction. We can find the word bazaar in Indian usage and English usage. Does that imply racial similarities? By no means. Consider this example.

Imagine the following scenario. Some catastrophe happens that destroys pretty much most of modern civilisation. One small, isolated settlement somewhere in Thailand or India, survived, spawned a new civilisation which gets sufficiently advanced that they get interested in archeology. An enthusiastic archaeologist discovers two DVDs while excavating. The new civilisation somehow cracks the technology of DVD and expectantly pops in these two DVDs. One DVD shows a black rapper talking while the other shows a white Eminem rapping away. If this civilisation does not know English, the two will appear to be extremely different but for the linguistic similarities! Therefore, they postulate that once upon a time, there was one set of people who came in two varieties black and white, but they were essentially the same. Then someone will point out that in the modern civilisation there was a disproportionately larger number of brown people seeming to imply that the present civilisation was purely derived from the intermingling of the two races. Such a theory will sell like hotcakes because it is almost impossible to prove or to disprove that black people and white people need not give birth to disproportionately large number of brown people. Why do I say that? Even if this modern civilisation knew genetics it may not be able to find sufficient evidence to do the test.

At this stage most people fall victim to what is called a “confirmation bias”. The test of a theory is how it stands up in the face of attempts to disprove it. The logic is that just because you have some cases for which the theory works, that still does not "prove" it. The theory is still vulnerable in the sense that someone may come up with one counterexample and the theory is declared invalid. However on the top of the head, most of us regardless of our levels of education will try to prove our theory by giving supporting evidence. It is important to note that predictive power of a theory is an important test no doubt, but the falsification test is a stronger condition. That is why despite the predictability power of the Aryan theory; it still fails because it fails on the falsification test.

Therefore, in all possibilities, the theory of “one people in two colours” or the bi-colour people theory will be embraced by the new civilisation to explain its origins!

Consider another common analytical mistake. How many times have you heard someone say “If only I had done this!” The cliche that the saddest words to say are “If only...” is not only tiring, it is also logically wrong as my friend Srivats once pointed out. Imagine if one says, “If I had studied for three more hours I would have cracked the exam!” This is wrong for two reasons. One, you did not know what would have come in the exam. Someone could have studied just as much as you had, but scored better because (s)he covered different topics. But that is secondary. More importantly, people know an outcome, trace the cause and change one variable and expect that everything else would have worked out just as it did. When you go back in time and change an instance, you are in essence stepping into a different universe, the outcomes of which you, or for that matter, any human being cannot comprehend because the evolution of the infinite variable cannot be understood.

Let me extend this idea. Routinely people say, “If India had embraced Gandhism we would be better off” or “if Sardar Patel had been Prime Minister instead of Nehru, the Kashmir problem would have been avoided”. You cannot, I repeat, cannot, know what would have happened. Things would have been different in both the cases, yes, but you cannot use qualifiers like better or worse!If Gandhism had been embraced maybe some problems would have been avoided, but some other problems would have arisen. Police action if initiated on Kashmir just after independence may have worked. But some other related territorial problems may have come up. The point is that such arguments are mischievous and misleading. However, even the most elite succumb to it.

But the ones I have pointed out till now are mistakes made by human beings. There is a deeper fundamental problem with historical analysis. Mathematics is “easier” in this respect. The source of mathematical study is the axioms that are defined. We define what is a point, what is a line, what is 1,2,3... Then we build the structure and work within the framework. That gives us a great degree of control. Why do most buildings have geometrical shapes, predominantly right angles and some circular arcs? The mathematical understanding of these shapes is easier. Why? The way we have defined our framework allows us to understand these things better. In a world where people are taught non-Euclidean geometries, we may expect to see other shapes instead of circles or lines.

In history, the source of knowledge or the starting point is itself biased by the author of that information. Therefore, in a lot of situations given evidence for one point of view from an authentic source, I can almost always find evidence to contradict that from an equally authentic source.

Then what is the way out? Should we just abandon studying history then? No, not at all. We can understand the mistakes of the past or the successes of the past, but we must be extremely careful when deriving conclusions from it and more importantly, the conclusions have to be rigorously tested for falsifiability.

How is all this important? Is all this theoretical stuff? Not at all. In the future, most of you will be required to buy into various ideas and philosophies. If you find these ideas and philosophies rooted in a historical basis, check it and double check it. That is my message.