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Michael Jackson's doctor found guilty of manslaughterjudgement\\ King of Pop, Michael Jackson’s physician Dr Conrad Murray was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter in the matter of Jackson’s death, which happened in 2009. Murray had administered a powerful surgical anaesthetic to the singer hours before his death. The verdict came out at the end of a six week long trial which was headed by a jury of 12 members. Murray was slammed for his “unconscionable” professional practice and neglect of his patient, Michael Jackson. The doctor maintained his innocence to mediapersons even after the judgement. Michael Jackson’s family, which was present at the trial, greeted the verdict as a triumph of justice while fans who had gathered outside the courthouse and had spent the entire morning chanting “Justice for Michael”, screamed with joy as the jury gave their unanimous verdict on the cardiologist from Houston, Texas. Murray now faces up to four years in prison and his medical licence has been suspended. Ever since the verdict has been delivered, the doctor has been put on suicide watch in a Los Angeles prison. He has been assigned special protection by prison authorities to prevent him being attacked by other inmates.
Sports \\ In October 2011, India successfully hosted its first Formula One Indian Grand Prix at the newly laid-out Buddh International Circuit in Greater Noida, Uttar Pradesh. The circuit was built at an approximate cost of $315 million and was designed by the famous F1 circuit designer, Hermann Tilke. The track that covers a length of 5.14 km and an area of 875 acres has 16 largely medium speed corners allowing race cars to lap at an average speed of 210 kmph and speed upto 320 kmph making it one of the fastest Formula 1 tracks in the world. At the event the man of the moment was the double world champion, Red Bull’s Sebastian Vettel, who won with the race’s fastest time of 1:27.249, breaking the record of most laps led in a season, held by British driver Nigel Mansell. The German Vettel bagged a total of 374 points followed by Britain’s James Button who bagged 240. Force India’s Adrian Sutil, who finished ninth, also cemented India’s future in the sport. The starry event also hosted racers Lewis Hamilton of McLaren, Fernando Alonso of Ferrari and the legendary Michael Shumacher.
Petrol prices rose for the fourth time in a year, then backed down to strong oppositionPolitical\\ The three state-owned oil giants — Indian Oil Corp (IOC), Bharat Petroleum Corp (BPCL) and Hindustan Petroleum Corp (HPCL) — increased the price of petrol by ` 1.82 per litre on the 4th of November, the fourth such hike in a single year. The move caused a furor as opposition parties called it a “midnight massacre”. The most vocal opposition came from West Bengal Chief Minister, Mamata Banerjee. Her party, the Trinamool Congress, threatened to withdraw support if petrol prices were not rolled back, though she later, retreated from her strong stance. Initially, the government maintained a firm stand on the issue. Prime Minister Manmohan Singh not only backed the price hike but also refused to guarantee against a future increase in prices. However, in an unprecedented move on November 16th, the government declared a reduction of ` 1.85 a litre. This more than neutralises the previous hike, which was announced barely a fortnight before. It is generally believed that political compulsions are responsible for the rollback, but the government says it is due to globally falling crude prices as well as the marginal climb in the rupee-dollar exchange rate.
Hamid Khan: I came to the US 32 years ago and realised that for immigrants, there were always issues of identity, race and adjustment that kept popping up. At a structural level, however, US policies became more anti-immigrant in the ’80s and ’90s. There was demonising of certain communities. On the other hand, the size and number of the South Asian community also began to leave a greater impact on American society. These factors led us to examine ourselves and try to deal with matters as a community. To begin with, I reached out to friends and acquaintances — at that time, Greater Los Angeles had no forum for the South Asian community. Initially, these were simple conversations that had a multiplier effect. Along the way, we widened our scope and an organisation developed. That was the South Asian Network. The early days were interesting. You see, there is a certain level of expectation within immigrants. People largely migrate for economic reasons. There is always the question, “Why are we here?” We needed to talk about that collectively and create a common sense of South Asian identity. To do that, we had to forget homeland politics, regional identity and faithbased spaces. Initially there were reservations between people from different countries and backgrounds, but it was not a hard bridge to cross, because people were open to dialogue and working with a common cultural identity — whether it was language, food or celebrations. We realised early on that we could not operate in silos. Our approach had to be inter-sectional. Workers’ rights were a big part of what we focussed on: issues like minimum wage, fair working hours and compensation. Then there were cases of people being targeted because of race and religion, what was loosely called “hate crimes”, and other sorts of discrimination. In the 1980s there was a group that called itself Dot- Busters (from the bindi on the foreheads of Indian women), who went around targeting people of a certain community. Then, there were issues within the community such as domestic violence and homophobia (with people being rejected by family members for being gay). Over time, we have managed to influence some change. For example, earlier a survivor of domestic violence and abuse had to file a report in a public area in the police stations — there was little sensitivity in the process. We advocated for reform and as a result, the police department changed their policy and set aside a separate area. At a national level, we got really active post 9/11. There was a law that required young men over 16 years from some countries (especially Pakistan and Bangladesh) to register themselves. This led to massive deportation and disruption within families. So we advocated for change and the law was withdrawn. To me, it is important that South Asians, as a community, draw parallels with other “people of colour”. For the longest time, we had trouble thinking of ourselves as “non-white”. In the process of adapting, we took on some of the more negative aspects of the culture here. The term we used jokingly was “Honorary Caucasian”. Post 9/11, a lot of that changed. Looking at the social and institutional reaction to South Asians, a lot of people woke up and said “Oh God, we’re not white!” At SAN we have always interacted and worked with people from other races. It’s critical to broaden the scope of that bond which all immigrants share, and learn from each other. SAN has been around for 21 years and I have retired now. When I look at the South Asian reality now, I can’t say if things are better or worse. However, I feel that US history is steeped in the twin issues of economics and racism — take slavery as an example. And immigrants need to think about these issues. Looking ahead, I would love to see a multi generational sharing of our experiences and for it to get passed down as oral history. I feel that the biggest opportunity — and challenge — is for us to show “This is what a global community looks like”. There might be a universe of differences, but there is also a universe of similarities and we have to build on that.
Binna Chahal: I came to America right after I got married. From the beginning I had an interest in the immigrant community. I remember I was helping with a film, Roots in the Sand, based on the Indian-Mexican community. That was the first time that I got actively involved with issues of the diaspora. I’ve been involved with SAN from its inception. We tried to deal with basic issues in the community: language barriers, how to manoeuvre around the system, etc. The first meeting we had was open to the whole community and attendance slowly started going up. We’d have lively discussions between family members and individuals on issues that impacted them. For example, teenagers often wanted to know why they couldn’t date, and would ask their parents, “What is the point of you coming here if you have to follow the exact rules as you did back home?” Basically, it was an attempt to establish a new identity while keeping our roots intact. At SAN our basic belief was that there should be no discrimination — whether on the basis of gender, nationality, sexual orientation or religion. We had Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Sri Lankans, Nepalese and Bhutanese volunteers. As a group we stayed away from the complications of homeland politics, and I would say we’ve worked well so far. We work mainly within Southern California, but have partners in other states. Barring a few people, everybody volunteered their time. For example, in helping people understand the system on how to get medicare, we had a number of doctors who would give free time — I was one of them. Today we have three main programmes: a Civil Rights Unit (CRU), a Community Health Action Initiative (CHAI) and AWAZ, which deals with cases of domestic violence. SAN developed a solid reputation and so got a lot of funding (which has been tight since the global meltdown) from sources, including the government. Initially, government funding was allotted for ‘Asians’ and so was distributed between all Asians and Indians hardly got any. This was for a number of reasons, but also because people didn’t really show up for the census that was done routinely. So the question always was, “Where is your community? Who are you going to get funding for?” So we got people to take part in the census and then got funding. One of the stipulations of government funding was that we had to collect an equal amount from the community, which we managed. Since I first came here, I see more awareness within the community and more youngsters volunteering. There are people coming into public life as well and it was important for us to enter the political arena. Otherwise, there was this post-colonial attitude that kept us thinking “Gore ko chedo nahi”, (don’t mess with the white man) and keep doing your own work. Recently, we had a couple of people come down to talk to us from the White House, and they were Indian women. After 21 years, I retired from SAN this year, but will always be a volunteer. Mental health stays a priority for me and we have tried to educate the community about this issue. When I think about the future, it is with hope. Our aim was to change the way our younger generation thinks about the needs of the community. I think that has happened.
A blend of the real and virtual worlds A space where the crowd exchanges its ideas, voices its opinions and imparts its wisdomWorld leaders are suddenly taking a big shine to social media. Digital marketers may have been shouting themselves hoarse over the big three networks for years now, but those who have so much clout in the “real world” have been wary, steering clear of the rambunctious animal called social media. It’s easy to see why. They just didn’t see it coming. And when it came, they didn’t understand it. And when they understood it, they couldn’t control it. Kingdoms are easy. Social media isn’t. But things are changing. In July of this year, a country crowdsourced its Constitution. And you can’t get more “social” than that. In Iceland, a group of ordinary citizens put forward the draft of a Constitution which is to be ratified by referendum. The draft took in feedback from hundreds of other citizens, who gave their inputs online. This is an example of the dramatic shift in power from institutions, governments and corporations to the people. This shift has happened for many walks of life. When it involves an open call to get specified content from people in general, they call it crowdsourcing. The term has been around for five years now, but the true meaning and impact of this shift is today being understood forcefully after ordinary people have gone and put heads of state out of home and palace. Few people would question people power in Egypt, for example, where Hosni Mubarak lies hospitalised today, awaiting his fate. Crowdsourcing isn’t just about revolutions and constitutions, of course. It’s also about businesses getting great ideas from “the crowd” rather than just from the select few suits inhabiting their swanky innovation centres. In social media circles, Starbucks is today as well-known for its crowdsourcing as it is for its coffee. What it did was to put up a website, mystarbucksidea, to call for ideas from customers. This caught on like wildfire. Ideas — and pretty good ones, at that — began pouring in by the thousands. Not only were many of these actionable and useful, but they made Starbucks customers feel their opinions counted — which they did. Many others subsequently used variations of this crowdsourcing, tying the ideas to various rewards. Drop in on the mystarbucksidea site to see the sheer variety of ideas coming in on any given day. I see a suggestion to make sugar-free frappes, another to sell Starbucks branded clothing, to support upand- coming artists, and to make steamed coconut milk drinks. Sometimes, it’s a negative event that leads to the crowdsourcing itself. Poor customer service or shoddy products, for example, will get a crowd going. Irate Dell customers coined the term “Dell Hell” for their problems as they posted them online. Sensibly, Dell responded positively and with action to these comments and even went on to be an example of how to use social media positively for its customers. An example of the crowd making its opinions known was when Gap, the apparel maker, changed its logo. Believing that it was time to modernise, they had their creative team make a new logo and proudly presented it online. The result was an unexpected backlash. People hated the new logo, en masse. So much noise and sarcasm over the new logo took place, that after a few missteps with their reactions, Gap reverted to the original — and all was quiet again. It was a nasty lesson for the company, which would have done well to ask people in the first place; except that no one quite realised that now, it’s the crowd that owns the logo. Since the Gap story, many companies and even individuals have gone to the crowd for logo and other design ideas. Crowdsourcing has now moved on to nuanced forms. Crowdsourcing.org describes a format with which an advertising agency goes to the crowd for creative ideas and storyboarding, but reserves the right to final selection and approval based on what their clients have to say. In a sense, the crowd becomes a virtual ad agency. Another way crowdsourcing has been used is to generate authentic brand content. That’s content you can’t get any other way but from the crowd, in fact. Some start-ups are creating websites and apps built wholly on the concept of crowdsourcing. Brazilian startup, Ledface, has set up a platform to crowdsource or use the “collective intelligence” to solve problems. Ledface wants to go beyond being a Q&A site to being based on social interaction to generate answers. Here, the answers aren’t even attributed to any one person, unlike with Quora or LinkedIn’s or even Facebook’s question pages. Whether Ledface will work or not remains to be seen. Crowdsourcing is being used for everything from fund raising to video creation, disaster management to music composition. Unsurprising then, that those in power are figuring out that it’s wise to turn to the wisdom of the crowd.
India’s liberalising economy is creating a marked shift in its political cultureEven as India’s growth story marches on unabated, policy makers continue to struggle with the modalities of how to address the needs of the poorest sections of society, especially communities living in rural areas. As debates on how to measure poverty, the country’s runaway inflation, etc., fly fast and furious, the epicenter of debates over “inclusive growth” remains the “land question”. The issue of land acquisition has a long and checkered history in India. Over the past few decades, the corporate sector has found itself at the receiving end in discussions about land rights of the marginal and poor sections of the population. This pattern has been dramatically punctuated through many government decisions, the most visible being the rejection of Vedanta’s mining plans in the Niyamgiri Hills last year, and in a different context, the Tatas’ misadventures in West Bengal over the Nano plant. At the heart of such cases is the tug-of-war between corporate interests seeking to maximise returns and the livelihood aspirations of social groups, described variously as Adivasi, Dalit, tribal, etc. The socio-cultural values of these communities are spatially bounded by land, often interwoven with their economies and ecosystems. Further exacerbating the sense of mistrust between big industry and indigenous communities has been the rise of Left-wing extremism in the central Indian tribal heartland. In all of this, the changing character of the Indian state has been a key variable and has shaped the vagaries of the “land question”. In 50 years, India has moved from the age of Nehruvian institutions that were products of a top-down planning paradigm, to a phase in which the language of “bottom-up” planning and economic liberalisation has led to key legislations that empower “local bodies”. Described as panchayats, gram sabhas, or for the urban areas, municipal bodies, these are being brought into the mainstream discussions of India’s natural resources, land, water, etc.This paradigm adjustment (it’s too soon to call it a paradigm shift) has put the state under pressure in ways that it had not experienced earlier. The top-heavy political order of the Nehruvian years — with state-led planned development negotiated by what Rajni Kothari called the “Congress System” has — via the Indira and Rajiv Gandhi years, given way to the recognition that Indian society is entering the phase of “bottom-up democracy” with a mobile “middle”. In the past two decades, this newly emerging political configuration has manifested itself in several ways, from the growing role of civil society organisations in shaping legislations (e.g., the Right to Information campaign), to the passage of the 73rd and 74th Amendments (1992), the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act (PESA) 1996, and the Forest Rights Act (FRA) 2008. It has also led to the growing power of Dalit and Adivasi politics. These developments, in the larger context of India’s liberalising economy, signal a marked shift in India’s democratic culture, which will again be tested when the Parliament debates Jairam Ramesh’s Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation and Resettlement Bill (LARR). Cynics would perhaps lament these developments as populist gestures, but it would be a mistake — the genie is out of the bottle. As we look to the future, it is vital that India’s institutional apparatus finds ways to engage local bodies and communities in a systematic, meaningful manner. The legislations referred to above highlight the fact that India’s grassroots democratic forms have been formalised and institutionalised in an accelerated fashion over the past two decades. This is entirely in the fitness of things, as India’s diverse and still predominantly rural population makes its presence felt in the political mainstream. Of course, this has created serious challenges of governance, as the growing tensions over land and mining rights in virtually all parts of the country demonstrate. The primary reason for this is that those directly impacted by legislations like PESA and FRA, i.e., those who wish to acquire land (who are largely in the private sector), and those who currently occupy it, are still uncertain about the full implications of these Acts. This requires urgent attention. The sense of mutual mistrust between these two groups, compounded by the inadequacy of governmental facilitation on these matters, underscores the need for the creation of space for meaningful engagement between all concerned. Such a deliberation must address, firstly, the operational contours of the legislative frameworks provided by the 73rd and 74th Amendments, PESA, and the FRA. Secondly, it should evolve a shared understanding that inclusive development and inclusive growth can go hand in hand when the people being displaced from their land and environment are given some agency in shaping their future, perhaps even a stake in any new enterprise. Last, but not the least, such a dialogue can also serve to de-mystify the challenges that the state and big industry face in a globalising economy. (To illustrate this point, one could perhaps imagine a scenario in which organisations like FICCI and CII engage directly with representatives of groups who fear displacement and marginalisation due to the mining cartels. If necessary, neutral civil society groups or government representatives may be invited to facilitate such a dialogue.) Such a space is necessary for the fullest realisation of what anthropologist Arjun Appadurai describes as “deep democracy”. For India’s growth story to have any real legitimacy for the majority of its citizens, dominant groups in the political and corporate classes must forge meaningful alliances with the people living in urban neighbourhoods, towns and villages. The majority of Indians are in the throes of a tectonic shift as their economies transform from being unorganised to organised; and local to global (via regional and national hubs mushrooming all over). Dominant groups must recognise that they need to listen, and learn to engage with people active at the grassroots level; indeed, with regard to the “land question” no one should have choice in the matter since such engagement is the law of the land. This recognition should be built on an abiding respect for the kinds of laws currently enshrined in India’s Constitution, i.e., PESA and FRA, which are built on the principle that the challenges of inclusive development will require the direct participation of local bodies, through which the majority of India’s people express themselves politically.
The Central Board of Film Certification was setup in the early 1960s for this reason. It was thought that the visual medium would always leave a greater impact than other mass media. However, television (TV) was always kept outside the board’s purview. In the days of Doordarshan (DD), the aired content was already monitored and vetted by the government. So the board was, more or less, a symbolic entity. With no other competitors, DD did not have to pander much to public sensibility or worry about factors like ratings. But with the government opening the gates to foreign investors in the early 1990s, things changed. Foreign channels came into India and domestic channels saw a boom. The viewer suddenly had a plethora of options to choose from. Television became a free, accessible medium which provided exposure to a world which was beyond the reach of most Indians. Originally perceived as “family entertainment”, TV shows became new and “different” with chat shows, reality TV and youth-oriented programmes. While many of these enjoyed high ratings, voices were being raised in protest at the content and quality. In some quarters, there was a longing to get back programmes like Hum Log and Malgudi Days of the “good old days” of DD. But there is no stopping change. As content gets more adventurous, controversies arise. Ashok Row Kavi, a gay rights activist, abused Mahatma Gandhi on the 1996 chat show called Nikki Tonight. The comment created a lot of furore and the network had to issue an apology to viewers and members of Gandhi’s family. Lee Child, the famous English thriller writer, once said, “I’m opposed to censorship of any kind, especially by the government. But it’s plain common sense that producers should target their product with some kind of sensitivity.” The possible lack of “common sense” at the producers’ end is forcing the concerned authorities to talk about setting up a censor board for television. But is the creation of a body to decide what the people of the country should watch a wise decision? Are not viewers best placed to decide what to watch? And can censorship transform itself into suppression? Two distinguished television personalities share their views and concerns on our Issue of the month.
Siddhartha Basu// Free flow of ideas and information is vital to a democracy, in which some degree of conflict and flashpoints are inevitable. The question is, how are these to be addressed? By intolerant groups or self-appointed thought police? Or by rushing to the courts on a daily basis? Of course not! Similarly, censorship in any form just passes the buck to a Big Brother, who exercises control over content either according to his fancies or by mechanical application of guidelines. It is also like trying to plug the leak after the dam has burst. We are living through an information revolution. It’s the age of the internet. At a single click or tap of even a mobile button, you can access an entire universe of content. There are about 700 TV channels beaming into India. Any kind of governmental policing of this explosion can only happen within a completely totalitarian and rigidly enforced regime. If that happens, all the abuse endemic to a Licence Raj will kick in. When you take the example of the case against Sach Ka Saamna, on what grounds should it, or could it have been stopped? That it was too truthful? The premise of Sach Ka Saamna, a show built around public confession and catharsis, is based on coming clean on personal issues, be they moral, social, emotional or even sexual. It is intended for a mature audience, and is meant to be thought-provoking and to make you sit up. Though the language and conduct was restrained and sensitive, a number of people were obviously not comfortable with this premise, while others found it too provocative. It was described as vulgar and obscene, without even a single word, image, or action in the show being so. Remarkably, the show had a sizeable and committed audience, who could obviously relate to what the show was all about. In the final analysis, the remote is the ultimate control. That’s the power of choice, and it’s in the hand of the viewer. On the other hand, television is a powerful medium, and both — those who fashion and those who control the content — need to exercise a heightened sense of responsibility. There is clearly a need for active self-regulation in television, which hasn’t been happening effectively enough. Self regulation is possible, if there’s a heightened sense of social responsibility, and a willingness to act on it. Timely review is important not only from the point of view of regulation, but also from the point of view of quality control. In the rush for ratings and profits, responsible restraints are routinely thrown to the wind, and the relentless mill of 24x7 telecast makes the very prospect of systematic review and correction remote. The S&P (Standards and Practices) cells of broadcasters have not really stemmed the tide. The government has been making ominous noises about withdrawing licences. People wonder why when films are subject to censorship, television is not. Maybe it’s that power of the remote — if you don’t like it, you can just shut it. Then again, arguably, the big screen has a magnified impact, and therefore, has traditionally been subject to scrutiny. The number of films, too, makes it feasible to monitor them. India, the world’s largest film producer, makes about a thousand feature films a year, in all languages. That is a fraction of the content output of India’s television channels. Realising the need for a review and response system, the Indian Broadcasting Federation has activated a Broadcast Content Complaint Council, which addresses viewer complaints. You would have noticed the tickers running at the bottom of the screen urging viewers to write in if they had issues with programme content. BCCC has a weighty and representative mix. It is headed by a retired Supreme Court judge and the 12 member council has four eminent members, four members of the broadcast industry, and four members of national level statutory commissions. Let’s see how well it works.
Shekhar Suman// The need for censorship in television is an absolutely relevant discussion — now more than ever. In India families sit together to watch a show, which is why it is necessary to regulate content and keep it within the confines of decency. I say this both from the perspective of an actor and that of a viewer. Censorship becomes even more relevant when we examine the impact of TV on India’s youth, especially children. With parents out working, there’s often no adult to guide children through television content and help them distinguish between drama and reality. The result: cases in which children try to pull off stunts seen on TV. Yet another big problem is that of imitation. Young people believe what they see on-screen to be the gospel truth and, even worse, endorsed behaviour — including unnecessarily aggressive behaviour and inappropriate language. One argument is that since “I hold the remote, I hold the right to decide”. The fact remains that though one may hold the remote, there are few choices. Because of the lack of censorship, improper content gets replicated across channels. It’s human behaviour to do things that are prohibited; the forbidden fruit is always that much sweeter. Take the Indian programme Emotional Attyachar modelled on its US counterpart, in which adulterous spouses and partners are brought out into the open — it’s apparently very popular among youth. The show is aggressive, abusive and delves into the contestants’ lives and bedrooms. Do parents wish their children to make sense of the world through what is shown on the screen and through the lens? I don’t think so, because I often meet people who ask me, “Why is this stuff being shown? Why can’t you stop it?” I believe that the call should be taken by the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting. When it comes to censorship in films, India has a system of certification which allows the audience to decide what is worthy of a watch and what is not — both for them and their families. This matter of censorship is often over-simplified and reduced to the basic notion of “freedom of expression”. However, freedom is a very relative term. One could say this is a free democratic country. So can I take off my clothes and walk on the road? I most certainly won't be allowed to do that! One has to draw the line somewhere — the definition of freedom is not being the worst that one can be. Freedom can’t be translated into a complete lack of responsibility. Experts in charge of television content should keep Indian audiences in mind. These days we are aping the West as far as programming is concerned. Take the show in which a contestant sits on a chair and answers questions, revealing his or her deepest secrets. Are such discussions a good idea, especially when the family sits together to watch the show? Personally, I prefer clean entertainment, which does not mean childish programmes, but shows like Tamas, Buniyaad, Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi and Dekh Bhai Dekh — pure family entertainment that dwelt on relevant issues, without getting preachy. Finally, the great debate on ratings — giving the audience what they want and what “sells”. Well then, why don’t we start selling pornography; it would do really well! Nudity sells, abusive behaviour sells. At the end of the day it’s not a question of demand and supply alone, because what sells is not always acceptable. There was a Russian news channel, where the anchor started stripping while reading the news. Could we have such a programme in India? Is it our culture? The business of ratings has made the TV industry market driven — a Hindi line sums up the present attitude “Ganda hai to kya hua,Dhanda hai”. That is the operating sentiment and that’s why I don’t believe that self-censorship could work. People who are in charge of the content already know that what they show is inappropriate, and they show it nonetheless. It’s like selling cigarettes with a statutory warning, knowing that addicts will buy anyway. Which is why we need a governing body, an egalitarian panel, which represents viewers, performers and politicians. Together, I believe, we can come to a consensus on what should and should not make it to television.
A twist of fate and failing eyesight made Dr Arvind Lal of Dr Lal Path Labs one of the leading medical entrepreneurs in IndiaIn 1949, after struggling for years as a pathologist in government labs, my father set up a laboratory in the heart of Delhi. And thus began my medical entrepreneurship. However, it took several years to build that single laboratory into the chain known as Dr Lal Path Labs (LPL). I followed in my father’s footsteps, and enrolled in the Armed Forces Medical College, Pune. After my father’s death in 1977, I returned to take over the lab. It was his pride and achievement and I couldn’t let his hard work go waste. At that time the industry was in a bad shape. The good thing was that LPL was a witness to the effect that pathological testing had on clinical treatment in India, and in a position to take advantage of it. Also, some medical advancement turned the tide in my favour. In the ’70s I hadn’t heard the word “franchising”. So it was a tough struggle to get space to start a collection centre. People were afraid that we would never leave and that their grandchildren would be fighting to get my grandchildren off the premises. In 1982, I set up my first collection centre at home. And we sort of cracked the code and never had to look back. Another experiment that proved good was using thermocol boxes with gel packs and perforated sponges to transport samples of blood from across the country to our centralised labs in Delhi. At first my finance team shot down the boxes, saying they were too expensive. However, I stuck to my guns. I have always been uncompromising where quality is concerned. In the mid-’90s there was a moment of epiphany: I realised that I had to stop thinking like a doctor and think in terms of business. I also realised that I knew neither about finance nor about marketing and had to find someone who did. But MBAs were not interested in joining an unglamourous industry like mine. So, I opted for CAs who asked me the right questions. I felt at the time that I had taken the right decision, and time has proved me right. Slowly, we began building a brand. By 1995, we were beginning to be recognised. We also struck a partnership with Quest Diagnostics Incorporated, the world’s largest chain of diagnostic labs. I wasn’t ready to give up the majority stake in my business, so I settled for a joint venture, which enabled me to send off samples to US labs. A decade later, we also entered into another partnership — Sequoia (formerly known as WestBridge Capital Partners) decided to invest in us. Today, it owns around 30 per cent stake in LPL. We introduced quite a few firsts in the country. I can justifiably say that any innovation seen in pathology was brought into the country by LPL. If you ask me, we are the Supreme Court of testing in India. Patients often come to us for reconfirmation of tests done at other labs. Today, from handling 30 patients a day in my father’s lab, Dr Lal Path Labs has mushroomed into 45 labs across the country. The labs are visited by 12,000 patients every day. Its touch points include 750 collection centres and 2,500 pick-up points in India. In 2010, it inaugurated Asia’s largest laboratory at Rohini in West Delhi. My father would have been proud. In the past five years, LPL’s profits have grown five times. In 2011, the company turnover has grown more than four times over and it is a combined effort for which I must give my team the credit.
I Wish I Could...
From planes to path labs, it’s been a curious journey for Dr Arvind Lal, owner of India’s leading chain of pathology laboratories, Dr Lal Path Labs (LPL). Growing up in the sixties, young Lal dreamt of landing planes on moving airstrips. “I wasn’t meant to be a doctor. I was supposed to join the navy and become a fighter pilot,” says Lal. He opted for geometric design over biology in school because someone said it helped pilots “steer planes on to the ship”. However, fighter-jet dreams soon crashed owing to failing eyesight. Instead, young Lal took the one decision that made him come a step closer to becoming Dr Lal, a name that’s synonymous with pathology labs across India. Lal picked up a degree from the Armed Forces Medical College, Pune. Though he did get to become one of the biggest names among medical entrepreneurs, within him there’s still the boy who adores anything that flies. “I can recognise just about any fighter plane in the world.” And yes, if he can’t fly them, he chooses to capture them on camera and keep them in his Gurgaon office. The table behind his desk holds a collection of miniature planes of various designs and sizes. On the wall in front hangs a huge framed picture of five Suryakirans performing an acrobatic combination at an armed forces parade. “That picture was taken by me,” informs the 61-year-old with a hint of pride. Today, the Padma Shree awardee is also an honorary Brigadier of the Armed Forces Medical Services.
Fourth Estate and selective silenceThere was a nice irony when Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, and Sonia Gandhi, the governing coalition’s leader, went to the Old Delhi’s Ramlila Grounds to celebrate the Dussehra Festival. The festival, of course, marks the triumph of good over evil, so it was appropriate that the Ramlila Grounds were where Anna Hazare had earlier defeated the government on the issue of corruption. In the context of Dussehra, Hazare presumably was on the side of the “good” and the government symbolised “evil”. The appearance of Sonia Gandhi in good spirits was also significant because it was only the second public event that she had attended since returning on September 8th, from an operation believed to be for cancer in a New York hospital — her first public appearance had been two days earlier to mark Mahatma Gandhi’s birth anniversary. These appearances were seized on by the Indian media to draw a line under questions about Mrs Gandhi’s health, and about why her illness had been kept officially secret from the beginning of August when she was reported to have gone abroad for a cancer operation and is still a secret, even now, in November. No one, of course, is questioning why Mrs Gandhi did not appear in public earlier, but there should be serious questioning about whether — and why — India’s top politician kept such an important illness and hospitalisation a secret. Alongside that, and maybe more significantly, why was the Indian media loathe to challenge that secrecy? Mrs Gandhi’s singular political importance is beyond doubt. If there was any doubt earlier, it was confirmed while she was away by the UPA government’s erratic behaviour on the Anna Hazare anti-corruption movement and on-going telecoms scandal. On both issues, Manmohan Singh failed to exert the authority that should go with his job, while Rahul Gandhi, Mrs Gandhi’s son and long seen as a future Prime Minister, failed to rise publicly to the challenge as heir apparent. Other key politicians such as Home Minister Palaniappan Chidambaram and Telecom Minister Kapil Sibal mishandled their briefs (and seriously damaged their reputations), while the four leading Congress Party figures Mrs Gandhi named as being in charge (including son Rahul) made no public impression. She was clearly missed. It did not take long after she returned for some sense of normalcy to appear to have returned to the running of the coalition. However, that begs a question: did the disarray while she was away develop because the government was missing her sure touch and gift of sensing what needed to be done politically, or because ministers and officials were scared to make decisions that might arouse her (or Mr Gandhi’s) wrath later? Or, as a political observer put it to me, was it because the Gandhi dynasty has taken over normal governmental channels of authority and decision making to such an extent that the cabinet and administration cannot work without its leader at the head? Whatever the answer — and maybe it was a mixture of all three — Mrs Gandhi has managed over the past 13 years that she has been engaged in active politics to build such an exclusive and untouchable aura of privacy and secrecy, combined with ultimate authority, that few people dare publicly question her role or criticise the supremacy of the dynasty that she heads. It could be argued that this displays a high level of dynastic insecurity and fear of being unseated, which in turn would explain why the illness was officially a secret. Mrs Gandhi has of course the legitimacy of an elected parliamentarian, though she owes her position of authority to her dynastic links, not to any proven ability as a politician. It would therefore be wrong, as well as unfair, to compare her with a dictator, but the general acceptance of her pre-eminent position and cloak of secrecy, and that of the dynasty, would be envied by many less democratically based rulers. So would her ability to rule with a minimum of public utterances — she appears in public relatively rarely, and never makes herself available for the sort of public questioning faced by national leaders elsewhere. Even Cuba’s ruler, Fidel Castro’s illnesses were publicly discussed in 2006. Politicians in the US are accustomed to public exposure, while Manmohan Singh’s heart bypass operation in 2009 was announced. Earlier, however, the illnesses of Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the former Prime Minister, were (and still are) largely kept private. However, even if one recognises that politicians will maintain as much privacy as they can muster, this still leaves the question of the Indian media’s largely hands-off response. It is true that the media here rarely reports on the private liaisons and even offspring of top politicians, but that is surely different from failing to explore the country’s top political leader leaving the country for a life threatening operation — Gandhi’s visit to the US was first reported by the international news media, and was then only lightly covered in India. There was a good debate on some of the issues on the CNN-IBN TV channel on August 12, and the Business Standard newspaper ran an editorial on the right to information, arguing the illness was a matter of public concern. There was a more recent article, The omertà on Sonia Gandhi’s illness, in The Hindu newspaper that mischievously, given Gandhi’s Italian origins, included omertà, the Italian word for a code of silence, in its headline. India Today magazine eventually ran a cover story, after she returned from hospital, asking how ill she was. This scattered newspaper and television coverage, however, scarcely amounts to a real attempt to discover — either through an official representative or other sources — the nature and seriousness of the illness. Such disregard by the media of its proper role in guarding the public interest is surely not healthy for a democracy, nor on the other hand, is the secrecy and aura that seems to have triggered that reaction. The views expressed in this column are of the author alone.
For team Arghyam, the joy of giving comes from being involved in seeing where that giving goesSometimes an epiphany strikes in the unlikeliest of places — in Rohini Nilekani’s case it was the shower. It was in this everyday space that Nilekani, a former journalist, a philanthropist and an activist, first thought of setting up a foundation that works with water and related issues. At that time, Nilekani had come into approximately `100 crore after selling her Infosys shares, where her husband Nandan Nilekani, then the CEO of Infosys, worked. And Nilekani clearly knew that she wished to give back to the society that had given her so much. Quick research and brainstorming sessions with the likes of Sunita Nadhamuni threw up a basic fact: there were few organisations that worked with water in India. There were even fewer organisations that funded efforts related to water conservation, equity and sustainability. Arghyam informally began in 2001. It was, in Nilekani’s own words, “a small effort to really learn the ropes of philanthropy”. She knew that she would eventually have to set up a more structured institution, which happened in 2005, when Nadhamuni also came on board as Arghyam’s CEO. The not-for-profit organisation seeks to support “strategic, equitable and sustainable efforts” in the water sector addressing the basic water needs of citizens. Arghyam works around five focal areas: project grants, urban water initiative, India Water Portal, research and advocacy and government partnerships emphasising on sustainability— environmental, financial, social and technical. One of Arghyam’s most ambitious projects began in 2007, a citizen survey called — “Ashwas: Household Survey of Water and Sanitation” — across 17,200 households in 28 districts of Karnataka, to bring out citizens’ perspectives on water and sanitation issues. Designed as a feedback tool to help villagers address their problems better, Ashwas morphed more into a structural analysis of the gram panchayat (GP) system in India. At the end of the survey, in Nilekani’s words, team Arghyam was presented with a “mixed bag” of concerns stemming not from the lack of infrastructure, but more from lack of awareness. Then there was the issue of corruption and the citizens’ failure to connect the issues of sanitation to health. It was not that help was not around when sought. Though the government did sometimes provide water testing kits, most GPs surveyed admitted that they had never asked for one, simply because they were not aware that they were entitled to them. There was also a lack of awareness about finances — aids remained largely unclaimed. The lack of sanitation in most districts was also a cause for worry — open defecation and utter lack of menstrual hygiene in several instances led to further illnesses. The root of the problem lay in the gap of understanding — between the government, gram panchayats and finally, the citizens. Though not everything was dismal, every improvement came with a disclaimer. Access to water was improving. At the same time, however, water quality was dropping. The country had water supply and the Centre had the money to address scarcity and quality issues. However, it lacked a mandate. Also, water was a political issue in several parts of the county. Another successful attempt to connect the dots by Arghyam was the India Water Portal — an open, inclusive, web-based platform that was meant to share “water management knowledge” among the public and experts. The portal was the result of the first Arghyam conference that was held in February 2005 and the National Knowledge Commission which was at that time pushing for knowledge portals in various sectors, including water. In fact the Planning Commission had set up committees to rework laws, regulation and financing of water. In 2011, Arghyam has financed more than 85 projects and programmes across 19 states leaving its footprint in more than 5,000 villages with a `150-crore endowment and a `12-crore annual budget, but Nilekani believes that the organisation still has a long way to go.