Censorship, in one form or the other, is as old as time itself. Whenever moral policing has come into force, an answering wave of opposition has emerged. Books, paintings, cinema and the press — all have faced the axe of a censor at some point in time. Despite heavy criticism, the scissors of the censor board have chopped off what they have deemed unfit. The cited reason for censoring content has been its impact on people, especially the youth and children.

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 India

In 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 silence

There 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 goes

Sometimes 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.

How greed and oversized ambitions led to the biggest housing crisis in America

Reckless Endangerment chronicles the growth of the housing bubble which has brought the American economy to the brink of a meltdown. The authors are Gretchen Morgenson, a Pulitzer Prize winning business reporter and columnist at the New York Times, and Joshua Rosner, a housing finance expert. Between them, they showcase the monstrous growth of Wall Street Banks, Washington and the two government sponsored enterprises — Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. The book traces the collapse which began in the mid- 1990s with a misapprehension that greater housing at all costs is good social policy. In order to promote this policy, the Clinton administration encouraged a partnership between the private sector and Fannie Mae & Freddie Mac. With support from the government, the book claims that the then CEO of Fannie, James A. Johnson, gifted himself and his executives a huge cut of that public money. A third of the subsidy which ideally should have been passed onto home owners was pocketed by Fannie, said a 1996 report by the Congressional Budget Office. Johnson got an astounding sum of $100 million and his successor, Franklin D. Raines also enjoyed similar perks. Chunks of the money made were transferred to Members of Congress and generous donations made for election campaigns. So what began as a noble idea had transformed into a monster, which ate away public money for over 15 years. Lenders unwittingly kept handing these financial behemoths billions of dollars which were ultimately used to benefit themselves. And basking in reflected glory were the Wall Street banks, sub-prime lenders and politicians. The book talks of how these different establishments were rotating funds and benefits among themselves. This Revolving Door Theory is the backbone of the book and has been exhaustively researched. But one drawback of the book is that it talks mainly about this concept, which is but one of the many factors that led to the collapse. The strength of the book is that it names the offenders of the housing scandal (though fails to name some key players), lauds the people who issued warnings about the forthcoming storm and effectively brings out the anger and frustration of the home owners. All in all, it’s an informative book and definitely worth a read.

Exceptional work by a writer extraordinaire; the Ibis Trilogy is richly detailed, deeply researched and finely crafted

Amitav Ghosh's latest offering, River of Smoke, is the second installment of the Ibis Trilogy, a historical fiction series, based on the Opium War of 1839. If the first book of the trilogy, Sea of Poppies, left you unsatisfied and thirsty, then River of Smoke will leave you craving the last installment. The Man Booker Prize shortlisted Sea of Poppies followed its characters as they floated in the Ganges in Calcutta and went streaming towards Mauritius, and ended with the clouds of war looming over the British empire. River of Smoke begins with three ships — Ibis, Anahita and Redruth — stuck in a raging storm. Ibis is a three-masted topsail schooner, home to a contrasting cluster of people: sailors, convicts and labourers. Anahita is a ship owned by a wealthy Parsi merchant, Bahram Modi, used for exporting raw opium to the ports of China, and Redruth a watercraft cruised by a Cornish botanist in search of the mythical golden camellia, in China. As the storm recedes and the sea begins to calm, five people are found missing on the Ibis. The book unfolds the fate of these stormtossed characters in Chinese ports, in the city of Canton. River of Smoke is the story of Bahram Modi, the beleaguered sonin- law of a wealthy Parsi family of Bombay, who has found solace in the streets of Canton. He is a successful opium merchant and member of the elite Committee of the Western-led Chamber of Commerce. Lover of a Chinese boatwoman, he has fathered a son he cannot acknowledge. The mandarin of China, after witnessing the horrific effect of opium on the population, has banned its trade in the country. But, before this ban is enforced, Modi wants to sell his last consignment of raw opium to get rid of his domineering in-laws and tormented life in Bombay. Certain characters from the last book make an appearance in this one as well; like the character of Neel, the king who lost his empire to the British in the last book. He has escaped capture and has now become Bahram’s munshi. Despite the appearances of these characters, Ghosh makes sure that anyone unfamiliar with the first book doesn’t feel that he is treading in unknown territory. The book, even though part of a trilogy, has a distinct identity of its own. Though reading the first might set the mood, it is definitely not a prerequisite. The tip of Ghosh’s pen is dipped in history, not ordinary ink. His palette is full of different colours and the smooth strokes of his brush have painted each character in fine detail. Ghosh’s sympathy, which lies with the Chinese population who suffered because of the greedy British and Indian merchants, resonates clearly through his characters. Unlike many other historical fiction novels, which are unable to make a connect with the readers, Ghosh’s narrative is such that the reader drifts away to the historic landscapes of China and joins his characters in their battles. The book is a product of prodigious research by the author, who is a historian himself. The language of the book is Hobson-Jobson and words like maidan, cumshaw and noker-logue are thrown casually at the reader. While most of these words will make perfect sense to an Indian reader, readers not familiar with the various Indian dialects may find it difficult to understand them. But these words have been blended in the story so well that they do not interrupt the flow; instead, they add a historic flavour to an already delicious treat. The only part where the narrative loses its grip is when we read the letters of Robin Chinnery, the fictitious son of the eminent English painter George Chinnery, written to his childhood friend. Here the narrative becomes patchy and appears to be loosely stitched. River of Smoke is not as panoramic as Sea of Poppies was. But it lives up to expectations. It has endearing yet amoral characters with whom readers tend to empathise. Written by an author whose God lies in the details, this trilogy, when complete, will be hailed as a touchstone of modern literature. It’s rich, it’s intelligent and it's unputdownable.

If he could, Nikhil Agarwal would wash the world with the warm and rich colours of wine

I s it a club? Is it a platform? No, it’s “All Things Nice”. This one-year-old company defies simple definition. Like a cocktail, it’s a mix of all flavours: take half-a-club, half-a-platform and a bit of a food, an events consultancy firm run by lovers of fine dining and voilà! You get All Things Nice (ATN). For a start, ATN helps clients host parties — dos that you don’t want to miss: those which serve foie gras, caviar, cognac and Cuban cigars. It also hosts members-only taste sessions — some with a twist. For it’s most recent party, ATN blindfolded its members for a “more decadent experience” and to taste, feel and understand what’s being plated better. ATN also educates airline crews, hoteliers and people involved in the hospitality business on what qualifies as good wine, on etiquette, great food, even better desserts and the accompaniments and cutlery to serve it with. All this work is performed by a close team of five, headed by Nikhil Agarwal. The young entrepreneur, with the “world’s best job”, is a former employee of Sula, Moet Henessey and Diagio. His stints also include some bigger Indian wine export houses. Interestingly, Agarwal snatched the phone from a friend to beg for a post in Sula after she refused their offer. It’s hard to keep the man away from the topic of wine for too long. As we all know, wine is a product obtained from fermented fresh grape juice. That’s the simple bit. Complications arise when you ask a sommelier which one’s the best of the lot — either battle axes are drawn or sommeliers maintain a stony silence. Agarwal takes the more diplomatic route. “Wine’s a subjective topic. Whatever tastes good to you, is good enough. A good wine is one which contains balanced amounts of sugar, acidity and tannin. Personally, I love a full-bodied bottle that has a heady bouquet. I adore a wine that lingers on my tongue and makes a drink an event.” It was this adoration that led to ATN. As a boy, Agarwal knew that one day he was going to be his own boss. When the time came, he toyed with the idea of an exclusive store selling highend luxury food and, of course, wine. The thought, however, was abandoned. “I knew that the concept of a platform for people interested in luxury spirits and gourmet experience was a better one. Today, we have created a community that comes together to celebrate good food and drinks. Eating should be joyous and inclusive.” And educative? “Yes, it’s our responsibility to create a language for wine drinkers in India which has a relevance to this country. Instead of saying that a wine has a hint of Ananas Reinette (an apple found in northern Europe), I would rather evoke a taste or smell that’s familiar. Why not create our own ideas, smells and sensations?” Though conversation with Agarwal is sprinkled with words such as “high-end” and “luxury”, he doesn’t approve of sky-high price tags. Left to him, he would lower prices and throw more parties. And make chocolates non-fattening. Wait, he would have to be God to do that one. In his own words, he often “struggles” with taboos: that wine’s a ladies’ drink and it doesn’t really “give you a high”. And the one that kills him — that it can’t be accompanied by Indian food. His final point? “Most of the countries that we talk of have had a head start. We have only been making wine for the past 20 years and can learn from others’ mistakes. Though the French are steeped in history, they sometimes can’t breakaway from how things have been done for centuries. We can and we should. However, it will take time.” A toast to the thought.

Patagonia offers the traveller blue glaciers, crisp windy days and great photo opportunities

Argentina, Patagonia and the Andes — names that have always rang a bell and held a distinct charm. For a long time, I believed that I would get to visit Patagonia only through the pages of the National Geographic, as these spectacularly pretty places were also pretty faraway. Until the phone rang one day and I was on a plane to Argentina two weeks later. First stop: Buenos Aires, where we were to be stationed for two months. Well, not me. Though vibrant and energetic, there was no way that I would stay confined to the capital when I had the rest of the country to explore. Argentina is a huge landmass with an incredibly diverse geography. From the warm and tropical northern borders that the country shares with Brazil, down to Ushuaia in the south, there’s so much to see. Ushuaia is often referred to as the “End of the World” — the only landmass south from there is the icy continent of Antarctica. It definitely wasn’t cool to come all the way and not venture beyond. I decided that while the rest of the crew would party and ring in the new year, I would head to Perito Moreno in Southern Patagonia: one of the world’s few advancing glaciers located within the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. I can’t remember the last time I fought for a window seat, but this time it was important I get my first view from the air. When the Andes appeared on the horizon, I was thrilled. For those who know their adventure gear, I was soon looking at the distinctly-shaped peak of Mount Fritz Roy, also the logo for the adventure clothing line called — what else? — Patagonia. The journey in the hallowed land began in El Calafate, a picture-perfect, quaint and somewhat touristy town located on the southern tip of South America. A place of transit, the town is filled to its brim with hitchhikers, mountaineers and tourists on their way in or out. El Calafate sits on the shores of Lake Argentino and is located 78km from the glaciers. There are several buses and excursions that start from El Calafate to take tourists to the number of glaciers located around. Named after a thorny bush (Calafate), typical to this part of southern Patagonia, the town is located on the southwest province of Santa Cruz. A popular lore states that those who eat the purple fruit of the Calafate have to return to Patagonia — I don’t think I did, though I should have. Honestly though, there’s not much to do in El Calafate. But, do take a walk along the quaint by-lanes with their bright “doll houses”. Listen to the whoosh of the breeze sneaking in and out of the trees and enjoy its nip. Located at a latitude of 50 degrees south, it gets reasonably cold even when the summer sun shines bright. For those who like a clearer to-do list, there’s the Historical Interpretation Centre, a museum of sorts, that takes guests on a quick geological and historical tour (100 million years!) of the region. The town centre is compact and chock-a-block with shops — there’s the usual array of souvenir shops, great (and expensive) adventure gear stores, cafes and restaurants. If I really have to nitpick, then I would say that the food left me a tad disappointed. Not that there was a dearth of good places to eat. However, if you’re someone who likes to sample local on red meat. My lunch venue for the day was an Italian restaurant. Post-lunch it was a stroll around the town once more. Lake Argentino can be spotted from most vantage points in El Calafate. On its banks, there’s a bird sanctuary with convenient trails running through it. In El Calafate the weather is dry with only 300 mm of rains a year, while the sanctuary, situated to the west, gets a minimum of 1,500mm of rains per year. Scenic grasslands, horses grazing, lakes and the majestic mountains in the distance — could it get any better? Because it was December 31st when I landed at El Calafate, the atmosphere was of celebration. Shops remained open till 10:30 pm and I wasn’t complaining, specially since it was still bright daylight at “night”. It gave me ample time to do the touristy bit—buy a T-shirt with the largest print of a glacier and take several photographs. Because of the clarity of the air and light, most of them turned out to be better than I expected. This was perhaps the quietest 31st December that I had ever spent. Away from the social dos of Delhi, away from the crazy crew parties in Buenos Aires, there I was sitting in a little hotel room in a far corner of the world, waiting for the clock to usher in the new decade. The moment arrived, the pyrotechnics went off in this little town, and I went to bed soon after. The first day of 2011 was on a bus. Not that I minded. The 80km ride to Los Glaciares National Park was breathtaking. The tour began by a boat at the Bay Harbour — Bajo de las Sombras — 22km from The Glaciers National Park entrance and eight kilometres from the glacier. The boat takes tourists to the opposite coast of Peninsula de Magallanes, crossing the Rico Branch of Argentino Lake. The sailing time is about 20 minutes. Nothing prepared me for the first glimpse of the glacier. I had seen the pictures, but standing next to the 60m (and higher) walls, I felt tiny. Our group was whisked away on a boat towards the fluorescent blue wall, formed 400 years ago in the High Andes. After all, the idea was to walk on the ice. A short lesson on glaciology followed, often broken by thunderous cracking, because the wall of ice moves perpetually and large chunks fall into the freezing waters of the lake. As we jumped out of our skins, our guide barely seemed to notice the noise. Usually conducted along the side of the glacier (that area moves less than the middle), tourists are provided crampons to enable traction when they go on their walk. (And if you still wobble a bit, there are specialists who will give you a short training on how to manage better.) We were all carrying empty bottles which we filled up at a small pool of water. There it was — the real deal, the purest “mineral water” I had ever tasted. At the end of a two-hour walk, we were led to a spot where a table had been laid out with cake and bottles of local champagne, which were opened using an ice axe. As we headed towards the northern side of the glacier, we got a panoramic view from walkways and balconies. From there we got a good sense of the scale and spotted the famous bridge of ice, formed and destroyed every few years as the glacier presses into the nearest piece of land. The ice cuts the lake off into two sections by forming a natural dam and the water from the lake erodes into the ice forming a bridge, which eventually crashes rather spectacularly every couple of years. And some lucky visitors get to see that. Though I had to hop on to a flight and head to Buenos Aires soon afterwards, if you ever make it to Patagonia, make time to do more. There’s plenty more that one can do in the region, like hop across to the Chilean side of the Andes, take a boat ride to see some of the other mighty glaciers around here, go whale watching, or catch a short flight to Ushuaia, at the southernmost tip of the continent, and possibly the inhabited world. You can get onto a ship to Antarctica from there, something I have always wanted to do. But that will have to wait for another day

MY PROFESSIONAL LIFE takes me across India, and the rest of the world, which is both fortunate (I love travelling), and problematic, because I spend a lot of my precious moments at airport lounges. On one such wait, after devouring dozens of magazines, my thoughts turned to my own, Democratic World. As I was reminiscing my present days as an Editor of DW, there was a moment of epiphany—though we have successfully covered major sectors of our democratic India—medicare, law, business, art and media—my team and I had never turned the focus on the most prominent one; politics. This coincidental omission has been made right this month as we feature Mr Ajit Singh, the Union Cabinet Minister, Civil Aviation. Mr Singh is perhaps one of the busiest portfolio holders, given the state of his sector currently. From the moment he stepped into his office, he has been tackling one crisis after the next with admirable astuteness. Far from complaining, Mr Singh believes it is fulfilling to come to office and face everyday challenges. After all, that is why he took his oath. Dedicated and articulate, it was a pleasure talking to him about myriad topics which also included his thoughts on ethics and ethos of the political system in India and her democratic world. As always we have endeavoured to provide a mix of serious and entertaining topics. A chunk of the entertainment, I promise, will be provided through rest of the world, which is both fortunate (I love travelling), and problematic, because I spend a lot of my precious moments at airport lounges. On one such wait, after devouring dozens of magazines, my thoughts turned to my own, Democratic World. As I was reminiscing my present days as an Editor of DW, there was a moment of epiphany—though we have successfully covered major sectors of our democratic India—medicare, law, business, art and media—my team and I had never turned the focus on the most prominent one; politics. This coincidental omission has been made right this month as we feature Mr Ajit Singh, the Union Cabinet Minister, Civil Aviation. Mr Singh is perhaps one of the busiest portfolio holders, given the state of his sector currently. From the moment he stepped into his office, he has been tackling one crisis after the next with admirable astuteness. Far from complaining, Mr Singh believes it is fulfilling to come to office and face everyday challenges. After all, that is why he took his oath. Dedicated and articulate, it was a pleasure talking to him about myriad topics which also included his thoughts on ethics and ethos of the political system in India and her democratic world. As always we have endeavoured to provide a mix of serious and entertaining topics. A chunk of the entertainment, I promise, will be provided through the deliciously naughty interview that our team had with ad man Prahlad Kakar. Kakar delighted us with his quips. A wonderful man, a creative and crazy genius, he is also deeply focused on his advertisements that have redefined how we look at some of the major brands today. Read his candid confessions in our “Looking Back” section. Also, we have filmmaker Rajat Kapoor in our “Reel Life” section. Honest to the core, both Kakar and Kapoor are a journalist’s delight. I hope all of you had a fulfilling Navratri and Duhssehra. Now, the wait begins for one of India’s largest festivals. Advance wishes for all my dear readers, may you have the biggest, brightest and happiest Diwali. We, too, have a treat lined up for you this month, when we turn a year old! As always keep those letters coming in, and I hope to hear from you soon.

A trouble shooter, an avid reader, eternal optimist, a doting grandfather—meet the man set to rescue Indian aviation

There is something magical about Lutyen’s Delhi—in its sheer dignity, beauty and magnitude. To see all that bathed in the soft afternoon light of a chilly October afternoon is quite a treat. There was scope a plenty to mull its beauty, as the DW team waited in the very heart of Lutyen’s Delhi, in a plush office in the bungalow zone to rectify an ‘irony’… Well, if one could put ‘right’ an irony... For a magazine titled Democratic World, we have had the fortune of meeting and interviewing experts from myriad sectors. However, rather ironically—we had not quite covered the world of politics—the nerve centre of any democratic system. So, this was our very first encounter with a ‘political leader’ and what a first it was to be. It was a privilege to receive a chance to speak with a stalwart; one of the busiest Cabinet ministers of recent times and a 73-year-old veteran. He assumed his responsibilities on December 18, 2011, in the midst of several storms plaguing India’s aviation sector. But he has managed to steer his ship out of one crisis after another. There is something about the Union Minister of Civil Aviation, Ajit Singh that assures you, all will be well. In the past the civil aviation ministry has seen a couple of turbulent years, which did drive some airlines to the brink of bankruptcy and caused heartaches for airport operators. Now, one can finally spot significant steps being taken to overhaul the sector. On October 16, 2012, the ministry announced the abolition of the rather-hefty airport development fee, charged on passengers departing from Delhi and Mumbai. The waiver should start from January 13, 2013. The resultant lower fare is expected to stimulate traffic and enhance the overall viability of the sector. In September 2012, the ministry also decided to permit foreign airlines to invest up to 49 per cent in Indian carriers, a move that should boost long-term investment and lead to a more professional and corporatised sector. In another move, the ministry directed state-owned Airports Authority of India to not levy airport development fees at the two largest airports that it operates—Chennai and Kolkata. Good news for the smaller guns. The civil aviation ministry is also in the last stages of ending the dispute over ground handling by drafting a new policy, which will prompt airlines to withdraw cases against the government. And, there are several greenfield airport projects (Navi Mumbai, Goa Mopa and Kannur) which are being fast-tracked to meet the impending airport capacity crunch. At the cockpit is the silent captain, Ajit Singh. We know little of the man in the office or his habits. Unlike media savvy politicians of our times, Singh has let his work do the talking. While remaining in the front line of the battle, he has managed to stay away from the media glare. Punctual to the core (he does get up at 5am every day come summer or winter, a habit he inculcated from his father, the former Prime Minister of India, Chaudhary Charan Singh), he was there to meet us dot on 3pm, as promised. If his punctuality is impressive, so is his patience. He sits through an interview with a camera flashing constantly around him. If it disturbs him, we do not get to know. It is only with a shake of his head does he finally dismiss our further request for photographs. For someone who is not “chatty”, we got a candid, ‘no-fuss’, heartfelt, to-the-point conversation sans drama which was refreshing and genuine.

FROM CORPORATE LIFE TO A POLITICAL CAREER

Ajit Singh’s life is steeped in politics. His father, Chaudhary Charan Singh, was the fifth Prime Minister of India, serving between July 28, 1979, and January 14, 1980. He was a much respected socialist leader, a friend of the farmers, who continued to lead the Lok Dal till his death in 1987, when he was succeeded as party president by his son Ajit Singh. His long association with the causes dear to farming communities in the north of India caused his memorial in New Delhi to be named Kisan Ghat. Yet, his only son was not “destined” to join politics. For the longest time, Ajit Singh chose a career path diametrically away from it all. His motivation was to see a world beyond the familiar. “I did my Bachelor’s from IIT Kharagpur. Like several other members of my peer group, I wished to see the world, receive further education. My basic motivation was to get as much varied exposure as possible. So I went for my Master’s to the Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago. I stayed away for 17 years. But every Indian, or in fact every individual who lives away from his country, eventually wants to come back. More so when the children start growing up, and you want to give them the same values that you received growing up. I had strong familial ties and that motivated me to return as well,” says the minister thoughtfully. He is a man of few, but meaningful words. We would learn to expect no pat answers from this man shortly into the conversation. So, did he ‘see the world’ we ask him. “The point was not to visit places but to have as many experiences as possible. I wanted to get exposed to different cultures. I wanted to see different ways of living. But I can’t claim to be well-travelled because the universe is too vast to cover, in fact, I have much left to see in India as well”, he says with a laugh. And while the son soared, his father even in those years “never put any bit of pressure”. “Not on any of us. We are six siblings. I have five sisters. Three of them are now settled in the US. My father was happy for us to follow our passions and there was an open-mindedness in the family that allowed us to explore and experiment’. Ajit Singh travelled to the United States of America in January 1964. Given that there was little common ground then between politics and private enterprise in India, the young Singh had to learn the ways of the private sector from scratch. Without realising though, he picked up some valuable tips for the political trade through his 17 year stint in the US. “Post my Master’s degree, I was in the computer software service industry. While I spent some time in a marketing role as well, I realised my real expertise was software troubleshooting. I cannot programme, but I can find out where it has gone wrong very quickly.” He laughs unabashedly when we quip that his troubleshooting experience and skills have held him in good stead in his political avatar. “I was involved in what is today known as operations systems problems. We were summoned whenever any operating system went down. It is an intrinsic part of all office operations. I started with IBM. To do the job, one had to be devoted as there were no fixed hours. You had to take responsibility and figure out how to solve the problem at hand. I did not mind at all. Those were early days for computers and to me it was all very exciting. Nowadays becoming a computer programmer, scientist, hardware personnel or a troubleshooter has become passe—there are so many of them around.” He remembers his stint with fondness. What did he find tough to deal with? In his, by now familiar ‘no-fuss’ fashion, he says, “Everything was quite new and fun—the country, the work and life in general. I was a vegetarian—a concept that the west is only now beginning to embrace—but there was always lots to eat and enjoy even in those times.” That is because like father, the son, too is a frugal eater who needed little to keep him happy. Life changed for Ajit Singh in 1986, when his father passed away after a prolonged illness induced by a stroke. “Unlike what people believe about politics being a dynasty game—my father did not wish me to join politics. I didn’t want to join politics. I never came to India with the aspiration to become a political leader. I came here in 1981 and formally joined my father’s party in 1986, after he had suffered a stroke. At that time, he was in no condition to know of the decision, as he was far too ill. I had taken a sabbatical, which gave me time to be with him. Keeping to the good-old Indian tradition, I was in the hospital the whole day and entertained visitors—most of them my father’s political colleagues such as Karpuri Thakur, Biju Patnaik, Devi Lal and Mulayam Singh. “They kept goading me to follow in my father’s footsteps. My foray into politics was an accident. Had I not been by my father’s bedside for a prolonged period, perhaps I would have never taken this decision. He never got me in. But I guess I am blessed because I live in the present and always enjoy what I do. In a similar fashion, my son, too, entered politics without ‘consulting’ me. He went on to win from a constituency which the party had not won in the past 30 years.” So much for ‘dynasty politics’. He does admit that growing up in a political family, at a time when the notion of serving the nation was so embedded in all its leaders, there were several elements that shaped him as a person. “My father, the way he was, influenced me a lot. He had to struggle to be where he was. He came from an underprivileged family. Yet, he rose to become the Prime Minister of the country. He was an exceedingly learned man. He was fond of reading. He wrote on several subjects, especially on economics. Growing up, I saw a man who kept busy always and worried about people throughout his political career—though at that time politics was not considered to be a career. I would always see his struggle against all odds. Irrespective of any culture or country, to get the downtrodden their rights, there is always a struggle. I guess I learnt this from him.”

FARMERS VS INDUSTRY; A MATTER OF AVATARS

A farmer leader, a successful corporate man, an industry leader; Ajit Singh has worn several hats in his lifetime. Which of these avatars does he feel the most affinity for? “I do not feel a particular affinity to a certain role, not in that sense. I was, of course, inspired by my father, who was truly a farmer leader. When I was here in India I would observe him at work. He was always surrounded by people who travelled miles to meet him. Perhaps because of the way he impacted their lives. I guess, at the end of the day that is where my heart lies.” Ajit Singh has an instinctive connect with his Indian roots and with the farmers’ cause. But his current role as the Union Minister of Civil Aviation is a change of responsibility and a new challenge. Does it faze him at all? “It is not only about the present role now, is it? A lot of people ask me how I did all of it—from being a computer software troubleshooter to getting into politics. Now that was an even bigger change. Yes, the present portfolio is an entirely different ballgame. But do remember that I have been an agricultural minister and began my political career as an industry minister. Doing good work is a challenge, especially in the present environment. Today, the civil aviation sector is not just about India’s elite. It is a vital sector which contributes to the economic growth of the country. It is a high profile, high-pressure job. One has to deal with all kinds of people (airline owners who happen to be very rich and influential and ordinary travellers). These are difficult times for us because the first thing that people give up during financial hardship is travelling—whether for business or pleasure. But we understand our role and the challenge. What we will focus on is connectivity. What we are trying to create here are feeder airports in the Tier-II cities across India. Make it accessible to the common man.” So, is he driven by ideas which are left of centre? “Frankly, I have never seen the division that you talk of. Civil aviation is important for every citizen. ‘Time is money’ even for a small-time businessman or entrepreneur in India’s Tier-II cities. He cannot afford to waste it. The ministry keeps in mind the concerns of every common man because that is what we are supposed to do. Does that make me left of centre or right? I can’t say.”

FATHER, SON AND GRANDSON

With the entry of Jayant Chaudhary, the party and the country are now seeing the third generation take on the mantle. Jayant Chaudhary is the General Secretary of the Rashtriya Lok Dal and a Member of Parliament representing Mathura in Uttar Pradesh. Like his grandfather and father, he feels strongly for the cause of the farmers. He is one of the prime movers on the land acquisition issue and has introduced a Private Member Bill on Land Acquisition in the Lok Sabha. Ajit Singh admits that though politics seems to be “the family’s choice”, it is not a tradition which is passed on with wise words on conduct. “My son’s decision was entirely his own. He was a student at the London School of Economics and then he went into the financial services industry. When the time was right, he decided to be in politics. He didn’t ask me. When I became a politician, my father was in no state to give me advice. He had suffered a stroke and was hospitalised. And when my son took his decision, I placed my faith on him to do what is right.” “Frankly, the question of legacy never crossed my mind. I have never worried about what I will leave behind”, he says when we ask him what he would like to be remembered for. “Of course I worry about what more I could do and whether I have enough time to do all that I want to. But honestly, at the end of the day, I am satisfied with the way I am. Everyone creates his or her legacy because every life leaves a footprint. However, I work because I like to. My son too works because that is where his heart lies. A legacy is not a strong motivation to good work,” says the minister. Relaxed, seemingly at peace with himself, Ajit Singh appears to be an exception to most of his ilk. As he answers the questions, we often strain our ears to hear him speak. He greets difficult questions with a smile and with humour. And it is evident that despite all his avatars, deep down, the champion of the cause of the common man and the capable minister is equally happy (if not at his happiest best) being a doting grandfather. When his two grand daughters come to bid him farewell before an evening jaunt, the Dada breaks into the biggest smile. He introduces them with evident pride, and makes them pose for pictures. When they leave he turns and asks, “Since you talk so much about parental legacy, here’s a poser for you. You just met my two granddaughters. The elder one has to have non-vegetarian food thrice a day—breakfast, lunch and dinner. No exceptions. The younger one will not accept a single morsel of non-vegetarian food. How do you reckon that happens? What I am trying to say is that at the end of the day, parents do only that much. Each child is an individual with her own habits, personalities and wonderful quirks. That is wonderfully unpredictable about the world and that is comforting as well. I have six grandchildren. Two of them I have around me all the time, four I get to see rarely. Children have an energy that is infectious. Of the two you just met, the about the world and that is comforting as well. I have six grandchildren. Two of them I have around me all the time, four I get to see rarely. Children have an energy that is infectious. Of the two you just met, the The Minister’s Words Favourite book: I am fond of detective fiction. I have read a lot of Agatha Christie, but the new league of exciting writers from far flung places like Scandinavia, doing great work in the genre, hold my attention more. As I said, I read a lot and there is an eclectic collection on the bedside including Premchand Favourite cuisine: I am vegetarian. My palate may seem limited to some people. But I am rather fond of Mexican food. Interestingly, I had the best Mexican food in Rome. I love Italian food as well Favourite film: Now and then I see some films. I do not often have the time to watch films. But I have watched a lot more English films, simply because they take less time (laughs) I also watch a lot of debates and news on television. (You go back to work and politics when you are relaxing?) Well, these debates often have very little to do with politics nowadays (laughs) Favourite time of the day: I am a morning person. I have to walk in Lodhi Garden every morning at the crack of dawn whether it is winter or summer. It is a habit that I picked up from my father. I like to listen to the birds and feel the magical morning light. I do not think about the day. This is time when I clear my mind. It is about inner peace Your mantra: My mantra is to do what I believe to be right, without worrying about others—whether they will perceive it in a good light. If my intentions are clear to me and my conscience is clear, then I don’t worry too much about consequences Dream career: I have done many things, so I really don’t have any regrets of not doing something. I live to experience the world. I am equally at home on a charpoy as I am in a five star hotel. Nothing really phases me. Summer does not affect me and neither does winter—it is strange but I believe that I can be home anywhere and in anything I do Role model: I am sure everyone is influenced by several people at the same time. I am an avid reader. I read anything. I have read Jane Austen and I am really fond of the modern day detective fiction. I sort of subscribe to all the major magazines and newspapers that are published here. I study the economic policies of England with the same focus as I listen to a particular farmer’s problem here in India. The universe comes together to teach me RAPID FIRE ROUNDyounger one has a mind of her own, while the older is shy and reticent. But they both manage to keep me on my toes.” There is one question that we had forgotten to ask of the minister. It crossed our mind when we spotted a framed photograph of him sitting inside a cockpit–does he know how to fly a plane? At the end of the day, it would not really matter if he does not—as we see it, he is captaining his ship (or is it a plane?) for greater glory anyway.