OBITUARY// Popularly known as Mandolin Shrinivas, Uppalapu Shrinivas died on September 19, at a young age of 45. Indian mandolin maestro and music composer, Shrinivas had undergone a liver transplant the same month but his condition deteriorated and doctors could not revive him. Known as one of the greats in the musical world, Shrinivas started playing the mandolin when he was just nine years old. The maestro played across the world with the likes of John McLaughlin, Michael Nyman and Michael Brook.

Shrinivas was also awarded the Padma Shri in 1988 and the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in 2009. George Harrison is reported to have said, “Eddie Van Halen, eat your heart out,” after listening to one of his albums. He is also the first musician to have used an electric mandolin in Carnatic music. Unfortunately, he also attracted headlines for his personal life, since his bitter divorce battle with his wife caught media attention; Shrinivas had allegedly cited mental cruelty as grounds for divorce, which eventually came through in 2012.

CALAMITY// Hit by one of the worst flood in over 60 years, Jammu and Kashmir has claimed 277 lives so far. As constant rains and landslides in September played havoc with the state’s rivers that were overflowing, the state’s citizens were left stranded, waiting for help and relief in the form of food, medicines and clothes.

What’s worse, the state needs to work against time and start the process of rehabilitation, what with the threat of biting winters just around the corner. Prime Minister has announced an assistance of Rs 1,000 crore for the state, and Rs five crore have already been provided from the PM’s Relief Fund.

The Indian Army has played a major role in relief work and is performing on two fronts – saving civilian life and property, while also saving its own installations. Other agencies are also working on a war footing to provide relief and work towards rehabilitation of the state. The Haryana government will send electrical vertical pumps to clear out regions inundated with water. This is in addition to the earlier financial assistance of Rs 10 crore, with medicines worth Rs 50 lakh, 50,000 blankets and food items. Apart from national personalities and organisations, the Gates Foundation is also pitching in and has announced $7lakh for the state’s relief work. The apple and saffron crops have also been affected as a significant loss of the two is being feared. Apart from these, those in the carpet and pashmina business are distraught are seeing their merchandise worth lakhs ruined because of the water.

To be released early 2015

TECHNOLOGY// After a long time, Apple unveiled a brand new product in the market last month. A smartwatch, the Apple Watch comes in three models, the lowest for $349. Compatible with iPhone 5, the Apple Watch is slated to release in early 2015, and has activity tracking capabilities that are similar to other wearable technologies in the market. It will work with Apple Pay, a mobile payment service introduced at the same time as the Watch.

However, Sony’s Smartwatch and Samsung Gear are there in the market already. But then research about the sector says that smartwatches market is slated to grow and become more exciting. According to a consumer study by Gartner, seven out of top 10 smartphone vendors have either already entered the wearables market or are about to ship a product. It also speculated by that 2015, Android-based smartwatches will average $150, thanks to the Chinese OEMs and ODMs, which are bound to push down prices.

Even after living in Singapore for several years, an expat still finds things to appreciate, discover and giggle about

DESPITE HAVING been in Singapore for four years, I still marvel at the cleanliness and order here. I am pleasantly surprised at how courteous and polite people here are, not to mention patient. I have seen long lines of people patiently waiting at food courts, outside restaurants and McDonalds – only to get a special edition of a Hello Kitty toy. Sorry and Thank You are phrases you hear most, even if you were the one who walked straight into someone while fiddling with the phone.

The rules are rigid, but the case-to-case scrutiny is surprisingly flexible. The country’s strategy to spread the word about a new policy – show infomercials about it on loop on the two most watched news channels, Channel News Asia and Channel 5. But a word of caution: once the associated jingle gets stuck in your head, you may find yourself pondering over the benefits meant for the elderly Singaporeans.

I once watched an infomercial, apparently for the benefit of construction workers, which discussed the correct way of going up and down a ladder, for more than five minutes! Singaporeans may not be the most edgily creative people in the world, but no one can top their thoroughness. Working with a Singaporean team once, I realised how useless my “jugaad” technology is to them. They work with rigid checklists and there is just no way around that. Trees on the roadside are numbered and are regularly pruned before dead branches can fall on the road. The buses and trains are squeaky clean despite carrying an average ridership of five million every day. There are sheds on the roadside for motorcyclists to stop and wear raincoats in case of sudden rain.

What I love the most, however, is the language that is the mode of communication here – Singlish. A delightful amalgam of Chinese, Malay and English, Singlish is the to-go dialect for the people of Singapore. And once you get past the problem of understanding the accent, you are in for a ride of hilarity. For instance, the word “can” is used to express various states of agreement. Instead of “Yes, I can”, the reply in affirmative will mostly be – “Can” or “Can lah!”. “Can leh” is “Yes, of course”, and “Can lor” represents a certain degree of doubt — “Yes, maybe”. On the other hand, “Can hah?” means “Are you sure?”. “Can you, or can you not do this?” reduces to “Can, or not?” in Singlish. Shorter, and definitely more effective.

So popular is the – for lack of a better word – colloquial language here, that a concerned government started the project Speak Good English Movement in 2000. It was aimed at “encouraging the residents to speak good English and reduce the use of Singlish”. The campaign posters, which cited the common grammatically incorrect Singlish phrases, and the correct sentences side-by-side, became immensely popular on social media, but for entirely different reasons.

Here are some gems:

Correct sentence: Can you switch off the lights?

Singlish: Can you off the lights?

CS: Do you know what time is now?

S: What time now?

CS: What time does the event begin?

S: What time start?

CS: Is this seat taken?

S: Got people sit here?

CS: Please let me know if you need help.

S: Got problem, call me can?

On a serious note though, Singlish dispels a stereotype about Singapore. The seemingly reserved Singaporean, once drawn into a conversation, usually turns out to be a lively, animated conversationalist. The best way to begin is to strike a conversation with a taxi driver. He will tell you all about the travails of the middleclass Singapore society, its concerns about rising costs, unemployment due to the foreign workforce and even share his family problems with you.

The estate I live in has many elderly people, who sometimes beckon us to come and sit with them, eager to start a conversation. The questions are mostly similar to the ones asked in India —about salary, kids, family and food. My husband has at least five friends over the age of 80.

Another delight in this mixing pot of cultures – food! Little India, the area with Indian shopping and eating joints, has everything you get in India – and that includes good-old Maggi and Amul Butter. At the sprawling Mustafa Shopping Centre, jokingly called the poor man’s Harrods, you can find everything from masalas to dal to achaars and chutneys. You can choose between Dussehri and Bangnapalli mangoes, and ponder on whether you want aloo bhujiya or moong dal namkeen for snacks. With Diwali round the corner, Little India is already glittering with bright lights. The Indian community is preparing a month-long festive spree of Dandiya nights and Durga Puja. While there is nothing like being back home, being in Singapore is the next best thing for me.

Viral Videos are being touted as the next big thing for social marketers and brand strategists, and the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge is an excellent case study of the same

If you have your finger in the social media pie, it’s impossible to have missed the incredibly viral, ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, which seems to have consumed public consciousness, and ice cubes, worldwide. The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge was the brainchild of Pete Frates, who had been diagnosed of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. He felt it would help garner global attention and financial assistance for this baffling and crippling disease that has no effective treatment.

For Frates, this “dare” was his attempt to leave his mark, one he more than succeeded in, with millions of people (three million on last count) dumping a bucket of iced water over their heads, and posting the videos on YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter. But what really got the world to sit up and take notice was the participation of thought leaders such as Bill Gates, Richard Branson, Sheryl Sandberg, Mark Zuckerberg, Tim Cook, and even a host of celebrities such as Tom Cruise, Ben Affleck, Leonardo DiCaprio, Drew Carey, Taylor Swift, Justin Timberlake, Lady Gaga, and Britney Spears, to name a few. That is not to write off the power of the many million ordinary citizens, who religiously followed the rules, made nominations and donations to spread the word about ALS. The ALS Association saw an outpouring of interest and has received $111.1 million as of September 9, 2014, according to its website.

The Ice Bucket Challenge, despite the inevitable and much expected criticism, is ordained to become a case study in the years to come. Already elevated to the status of a pop culture phenomenon, it shows us how the viral video redefines the traditional tenets of marketing and although it was an individual’s idea to make the world’s philanthropists sit up and take notice, there is a lot that corporations and brands can glean from this humble, yet freezing experience.

What appealed to audiences across the globe is the simplicity of the message or action. Anyone can dunk themselves in a bucket of ice and while it elicits a few laughs and happy memories, it also shows the power of getting the message across and having your audience involved with the least amount of fuss. In a sense what also adds to the appeal of the campaign was the conscious Good Samaritan tag that every participant took back with her, helping her connect more proactively with the end goal — of raising awareness about a lesser-known condition, ALS. Most importantly, however, the sense of urgency in having to complete the challenge within 24 hours of receiving your nomination only added to the campaign value and, therefore, the imminent threat potential of the condition.

Naysayers may argue that while it may have clicked and the ALS coffers have been ringing non-stop, the flip side is that the campaign will not work if one were to assume a one-size-fits-all strategy. The biggest negative most people have voiced against this campaign has been its non-relevance in many of the geographies it has found takers and sympathizers. For instance we saw Bollywood names such as Akshay Kumar, Sonakshi Sinha and some others latch on without any warning or nomination per se, merely to be part of the do-gooders bandwagon. But the truth is there are more pressing issues and concerns even in India, which haven’t seen as many takers or campaigners.

And hence, the birth of the Indian Rice Bucket challenge. While that had the advantage of being intrinsically relevant to the socio-economic condition of India’s majority, that it didn’t garner as much attention or hoo-ha is a point to ponder. The truth is, any imitators of the ice bucket are under threat of being written off as a “me-too” campaign. And public conscience has space only for so much goodness and charity at a time. But back to viral videos, which are being touted as the next big form of marketing and brand promotions. So do all viral campaigns indeed translate to on-theground success? While videos may help engage consumer curiosity in many instances and spread awareness, not all are designed to convert that interest into moolah. Excellent example of this are the viral effects of music videos such as “Why this Kolaveri Di” of Dhanush from his movie 3; or the popular song “Nenjukulle” of A R Rahman from the movie Kadal, which debuted on an episode of MTV India’s Unplugged. Both videos were released much before the actual movie and are the frontrunners of viral video marketing in India. Both videos and songs were great hits online, but the movies and the songs as picturised in the movies didn’t find many takers. Simply put, viral videos while responsible for heightened and possibly prolonged interest in the video itself, might not necessarily translate into tangible results.

It does seem, however, that viral videos are here to stay and we have witnessed their magic a few times now. It’s easy to see why. They are interactive, there is an instant emotional connect and the creative freedom, therefore, is much higher. And as Jonah Berger, marketing professor at the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania and author of the bestseller Contagious: Why Things Catch on; puts it, “Emotion is one factor that drives sharing. Any emotion that fires us up — humour, awe and excitement, but also anger and anxiety — drives us to share.”

What brands and corporates need to understand is that social media helps them separate the wheat from the chaff and if they have a clever idea that is executed well, they have a winner on their hands. The one by Dove, which was called “Real Beauty Sketches”, or Danone’s luxury water brand Evian’s “Roller babies” campaign; high-definition camera maker GoPro’s “Fireman Saves Kitten” clip, or monthly tampon subscription service HelloFlo’s “The Camp Gyno” video on YouTube, are all instances of how an unprecedented frenzy and interest on social media helped build brand awareness and sympathy in lesser time and expense. Marketing experts feel that campaigns need to become platform agnostic and increase the number of touch points to engage with their audience. With the likes of YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and Pinterest, there is no limit to the eyeballs a viral campaign can garner. All one needs is an authentic message that has its heart in the right place and a sense of urgency to entice the forever logged on populace worldwide. So what’s the next buzz after Brrrrr…?

The scripts there are beautiful, the men drop-dead gorgeous. The saving grace for Indian soaps - they are a lot stronger on the women front

LAST MONTH, I fell in love. With Fawad Afzal Khan. This doesn’t happen all that often with me. The last time it happened was in 1988, again when I was watching TV. The show was called Fauji and I was mesmerised by Commando Abhimanyu Rai. That was a love affair that has lasted several decades. This one might well too. After all, how can you not fall for a guy whose eyes promise sex, lust and utter devotion – and not necessarily in that order – without any help from Baahon ke darmiyan or Hum… hum tum playing in the background?

The mothers in my life had been gushing for a while about the new channel that was beaming Pakistani serials, but they had diametrically opposite favourites. When I watch TV, it is with commitment. Anyone with less gurda would have chickened out of the last eight months of Bade Achhe Lagte Hai. So, the choice of which Pakistani serial to watch had me dithering for some weeks. Then a friend WhatsApped: “You must watch Zindagi Gulzar Hai – it is just amazing!”

So the decision was taken. Zindagi Gulzar Hai was locked. And Fawad Khan happened to me. And, with him, the chaska of Pakistani serials. Soon, the channel, Zindagi, was no longer enough. I was scouring YouTube for Fawad Khan serials. After devouring ZGH, I watched Dastan. Then moved to Humsafar, which is where I am now, halfway down. And I am still hooked. It was a chore going back to Ek Hasina Thi (STAR Plus), Beintehaa (Colors) and Ekk Nayi Pehchaan (Sony). The thing about Pakistani serials is that they are effectively made and beautifully scripted. The dialogues are natural and sound just the way you and I would speak (if we were speaking chaste Urdu, of course). The characters can actually intersperse flawless English with the Urdu — they don’t say “Ded” when they want to say “Dad”. And they definitely don’t say, “This is a very good news!”

Each 45-minute episode has a distinct development. There is no religious excess (entire weeks of episodes are not thrown away on religious celebrations). You seldom even see the characters praying. Best of all, the serials end. Indian producers would do well to take five years off to go to Pakistan and learn the art of making an effective TV serial. But… and this is quite a big but! Once the initial rose-tinted haze cast by Fawad Khan had worn off, I found myself looking more critically at the serials I had been watching. Some things jarred, most prominently the agency of women. The serials showed women as definitely subordinate to men, even those women that started out as strong and independent.

In ZGH, Kashaf is a selfmade woman. Abandoned by her father and brought up by an independent, working mother, she carves out a life for herself through persistence and hard work. When she finally becomes a government officer, her father comes wheedling back to her with requests to help the son for whom he had abandoned her. And her mother is quick to persuade her to accept him back: “Aakhir woh tumhare Abba hai.”

Once Kashaf gets married to Zaroon, her mother carries on with the advice: you must do everything for your shauhar, he must get addicted to the taste of the food you cook (even if, as a government officer, you have servants galore). In short, women must make their husbands completely dependent on them — maybe that’s how you avoid those three little words no one wants to hear. The “bad” modern working woman motif (unless, like Kashaf, she is doubling up as superwoman in the kitchen and bedroom) continues throughout the serial. Zaroon’s headstrong sister, Sara, heads for a divorce because she will not listen to her husband’s admonition that she leave off going out with her friends, which include men. Zaroon breaks off his earlier engagement with Asmara because he does not approve of her going to late night beach parties in a mixed group. And Zaroon is unhappy with his mother, Ghazala, because he thinks that she neglected her family for her career. “Sabhi mard Abba ki tarah nahin hote,” he tells her, meaning not as accepting as Abba.

The theme continues in Humsafar, where the docile, home-loving Khirad is obviously more heroine material than the Westernised, office-going Sara — and more worthy of the hero’s love. Let’s be clear, this theme of the good women who stay at home versus the bad women who go out and work finds echoes in most Indian serials as well. The most confused example would be Ekk Nayi Pehchaan, where you have the MBAtoting Sakshi quite happy to trot after main- law Sharda, learning how to make perfect dal and the halwa that her husband, Karan, loves, whereas her sister-in-law, Latika, is perennially on bad terms with her husband because she will not give up her career to look after home and hearth.

But Sakshi also compels the illiterate Sharda to go out and study and, when Sharda discovers that her husband, Suresh, has another wife, helps her start her own business and make it a success. Never mind that both threads got cast by the wayside when the TRP Gods frowned. It is also Sharda’s co-wife, Pallavi, who decides that it is time their mutual husband was taught a lesson in respect for women and incites her to rebel against his treatment of her.

In Beintehaa, which is an Indian Muslim serial, Aaliya is an upright character with strong beliefs and the courage of her convictions. She takes stands and refuses to budge from what she knows is right. That it doesn’t make her a very lovable character is neither here nor there. People of strong convictions seldom are. Ek Hasina Thi also has a strong female protagonist in Durga Thakur, the fireand- brimstone heroine who is out to take revenge on the wealthy, influential Goenkas for the atrocities they committed on her and her family. In comparison, the hero, Dev, is a wimp (there’s really no other way to describe him!).

So, to all of you who are exulting about Zindagi and the fare it has on offer, I have only this to say. Yes, we do need to tone down the eye shadow (interestingly, the “bad” women in Pakistan also seem to spend more money on eye shadow), we need to go easy on the jewellery (a girl who’s wearing ten lakh rupees worth of jewellery cannot be telling the arranger of her ishtimayi shaadi, “Aap nahin hote to hum gareebon ka kya hota?!”), we need to lower the pitch on the background music, and we need to press a firm delete on the neverending music interludes, the irritatingly long and silly reaction shots and the repeated interspersing of flashback shots to remind viewers of what happened 10 minutes ago. But as far as basic message is concerned, Indian TV serials are a lot stronger on the women front. If only we made them like they did in Pakistan!

Meanwhile, Fawad Khan has followed in SRK’s footsteps and moved to Bollywood. His Khoobsurat (yes, a remake of “the” Khoobsurat) released this September.

Dr Bindeshwar Pathak of Sulabh movement is a man on a mission

Idon’t feel I a day older than 25, when I began working”, he says with a smile. At 71-plus years, Dr Bindeswar Pathak has enviable energy levels.”I am an optimist by nature. Also, when you love what you do, you can’t get tired.”

The founder of Sulabh Sanitation and Social Reform Movement, Dr Pathak stumbled upon the road that became the mission of his life. That the mission he has taken on should be high on India’s list of priority, but that it is not so, makes it a challenge It isn’t easy to take up the issue of public sanitation in a country such as India that still has scavengers carrying human excreta even though it has been banned by law. There is also the question of half of India’s population not having access to toilets; in fact the situation stinks to such an extent that Prime Minister Narendra Modi addressed the issue in his speech during Independence Day this year. “It’s a big problem. The strange thing, however, is that nobody wants to discuss it, find solutions, learn and discuss. I want to make sure it’s not a dirty word anymore,” he says.

Four decades of working in the sanitation field has been full of challenges and rewards. As Dr Pathak walks on, working on seeing every home in India have a toilet, everyone living with dignity, it’s interesting to look back at his journey.

THREE VISIONS

As the son of a Brahmin landlord family in village Rampur in Patna, the young boy’s life was pure joy. He walked to school with his friends, climbed trees to steal fruits, and like most of his classmates, played a lot, studied little. And just like we all have our turning points and epiphany moments, for young Bindeshwar, the first one came rather early. The first is a vision that still haunts him. and returning back. As children we all spoke of what we’d hear from our families. We’d talk of her work, how nobody could touch her, how it was important for her to stay outside the village. She had this strange look on her face. It was as if she was a shadow, like she almost didn’t exist.”

The young Bindeshwar often wondered why these rules existed, and who made them. The answers weren’t easy to come by. But the hunger to find them had taken birth.

THE FIGHT WITHIN

The young boy was growing up fast. After his schooling, he went to college and topped in the first year in college. But life had other lessons in mind. “I had to drop out of college because of a sudden financial crunch,” he recalls. Dr Pathak had to take up odd jobs. First he taught in a school, then shifted to the electricity board in Patna and, later, started an Ayurvedic medicine business. But none felt like anything that made him happy. Then, out of the blue, Dr Pathak was promised a job by the Bihar Gandhi Centenary Celebration Committee by his relatives. He began as a translator and then, as luck would have it, he got a project to find an alternative to scavenging in 1969. His first answer was a firm no. “I guess my caste was playing up in my head momentarily but I came around,” he says candidly.

Somewhere, the little boy inside him prodded on to see if he found any answers to his questions. “I stayed with the scavengers for a month. I tried to change their attitudes and also worked on mine,” he recalls. Soon a report on the Sulabh Shauchalaya (pourflush water seal toilets with twin pits for on-site disposal of human excreta) was ready. The Bihar government was yet to pass it when luck knocked on the doctor’s door once again. He had gone to Arrah where he met an old contact, who showed faith in Dr Pathak’s idea and asked him to construct some of these toilets. Soon after, an officer in Buqsar asked him to do the same. The technique proved to be a winner. The Bihar government approved it, too. And like they say, the rest was history.

THE BIG MOVE

Today, the Sulabh movement is a nationwide phenomenon and is spreading its wings internationally. The Sulabh Shauchalaya twin pit, pour-flush toilet system is in use in more than 1.3 million residences. United Nations HABITAT and Centre for Human Settlements have declared the technology a Global Best Practice, and it is recommended by the UNDP for use by more than 2.5 billion people around the world who don’t have access to basic sanitation facilities.

Dr Pathak looks back at it all with a sense of nostalgia. “When I founded Sulabh it was confined to the restoration of human rights and dignity of untouchables in Bihar and for that I developed the two-pit pour flush eco-friendly compost toilet technology and the success started from 1973,” he says, adding how he never thought the organisation will grow to such an extent that it will have an impact not only in India but the entire world.

Recognition is something he is familiar with. While Time magazine named him an environmental hero, Stockholm Water Prize, the Padma Bhushan, Indira Gandhi Priyadarshni Award and the International Saint Francis Prize for Environment are also some of the awards that he has received. “I don’t work for awards but they come along. Awards, to my mind, tell you that you are headed in the right direction.”

For him, it’s also nice to see some of his dreams being fulfilled. “Usually, a movement does not become successful during the lifetime of the person who initiates it, but I am happy and fortunate that I have been able to show the country and the world how we can solve the problem of absence of toilets in the house.”

DREAMING ON

That said, Dr Pathak is not the man to rest on his laurels. In fact his presence in the Delhi office (when he is not travelling) always causes a stir, thanks to the workaholic in him. “I have been trying to fulfill the dreams of Mahatma Gandhi, I don’t get tired. There is so much to be done.” he says.

What also sets Dr Pathak apart is the fact that he is constantly thinking of contributing to the society. So be it his work for the scavenger women, breaking the tradition of widows of Vrindavan playing Holi for the first time, the rehabilitation of the widows of Deoli Banigram Village in Uttarkhand after the June 2013 tragedy, or the launch of the “Toilet in Every Household” campaign in the village of Katra Shahadatganj in Badaun District of Uttar Pradesh after the unfortunate rape incident, Dr Pathak is always thinking ahead. “I want to bring a smile to everyone”, he sums up.

First it was hounded for having the highest per capital alcohol consumption – 8.3 liters. Now that the Kerala State government is paving the way for a prohibition strategy by banning liquor bars, there’s a lot of dissent regarding the decision. One thing is clear though – there’s definitely a need to control alcohol consumption in the State. The question: is banning and prohibiting alcohol the only and the best solution?

K M SHAJHAN //What is being discussed in Kerala is not prohibition at present. It may take place in the State in a few years, but what is currently being implemented is closing down bars selling Indian made foreign liquor (IMFL) and also shutting down the 336 Kerala State Beverage Corporation outlets in a phased out manner. Kerala can become a dry state only after that.

Let’s consider some numbers now. Kerala has only 4 per cent population of the country, but is one of the most densely populated states. It is also one of the top ranking states in alcohol consumption. The issues arising out of this abuse of alcohol are serious. It has created problems in the families of Kerala, the health status of Malayalis is suffering and it is a problem looming large over the state. None of the political parties until now had the courage and the commitment to impose decisions like this. Those who have been running the bars in Kerala have maximum political clout and have been minting money for years. You will find that alcohol is the only product for which the demand is insatiable. The latest numbers of the Beverage Corporations tells me that in 2013, more than Rs 8,000 crore was given to the exchequer. On one hand, alcohol has been creating serious problems for the people of Kerala, and on the other hand, those selling it have been minting money and have absolute hegemony over each and every political decision in the state.

This decision that has been taken is one of the most revolutionary and historic ones, and ought to have been taken a decade ago. The number of crimes will come down, the atmosphere will be peaceful and Kerala will be truly transformed. One can already see a difference with phase one of the ban on bars having been implemented. Those who are worried about the ban giving rise to bootlegging and an increase in the sale of spurious alcohol, I want to tell them it is all rhetoric. In the 1990s, there was a total ban on sale of arrack – it has maximum alcohol content — in Kerala. If you look at the years after that, you will notice that there was only one stray incident of spurious alcohol consumption in nearly two decades. This rhetoric about spurious alcohol and bootlegging is being made by politicians who are hand-in-glove with the liquor mafia. And mind you, when arrack was banned, it was the only alcohol that was available in the state. Back then, IMFL had become accessible to the people of Kerala only a few years ago, when the Abkari Act was amended and the Beverage Corporation started offering it through their outlets in the state.

Look at what happened with regards to smoking. After it was banned in public places, smoking itself has come down in Kerala. Of 100 people, not more than five are smoking today. Even I was a smoker and quite three years ago after smoking for 33 years. I feel this strategy on alcohol in Kerala is the correct policy to implement. If alcohol is banned step by step, the people of Kerala will be free of the ills of alcoholism, which has been playing havoc in their lives. Also, contrary to the general feeling that if will be a financial loss for Kerala, it will not create any financial problems for the state in the near future. We have seen after 418 bars were closed in the first phase, the earnings of the Beverages Corporation increased by 33 per cent. These outlets will now also sell high-quality, high-priced liquor as compared to the earlier sale of only low-end alcohol.

Also, when you buy a bottle of alcohol, you are paying the government 200 per cent tax. On the other hand, the bar owners may make a profit of Rs 100 but only pay Rs 10 to the exchequer. These bars have been cheating the government, lock, stock and barrel. For tourists there will be no problem either. The government is looking at some amicable solution, which means hotels that earn more than Rs one crore of foreign exchange should be given bar license. Maybe that slab should be raised to Rs 10 crore.

VIJAY SIMHA // Human behaviour changes under the influence of alcohol. Science and medicine have amassed evidence on it, and sociologists have documented it. Alcohol influences behaviour in a simulated room and in homes. In places where alcohol has more control, like bars, behaviour changes even more. Thus, it is true that intoxication has an impact, mostly negative, on a person. Evidently, things have reached a state where something needs to be done about consumption of liquor in Kerala. However, prohibition would cause more problems. The only context for prohibition is human conduct, although we have learned the hard way that we cannot legislate for behaviour. We may have laws for the consequences of human conduct, but behaviour itself is impervious to law. A person who drinks more than he ought to be is likely to do exactly what you ask him not to.

Indians are the most regulated people on earth – we have law for practically everything although some of it should be plain common sense. Yet – in spectacular indifference to the multitude of laws – Indians are immune to regulation. Also, money is a powerful motivator in India. It often seems to override a sense of right and wrong. We overdo our greed. Profit from liquor has seduced the state as well. Over many decades, the status of alcohol has shifted from being a subject of social policy to occupying prime finance space. Thus, States tend to say they need revenue from the sale of alcohol. In any case, what has been planned for Kerala is partial prohibition. It’s a strange policy. Almost there but not quite. It assumes that people with access to money – who might devote evenings and wallets to five-star hotels – behave better when drunk. They don’t.

The thought of prohibition in Kerala has taken shape – at least partially – from how some men respond to alcohol. Prohibition, at its core, seeks to improve such men by making it difficult to reach alcohol. Only a certain kind of man beats women or other men when drunk. Not all do. Prohibition will not make such men behave better. They are most likely to have mental health issues way out of the purview of alcohol policy. Alcohol does not change people; it merely lets a person loose. I am an addiction and wellness counselor. I do not endorse overdose of anything. Addiction is the consequence of a host of factors. Easy access to a substance – alcohol and other drugs – or activity – gambling or sex – is merely one of the reasons. Peer pressure is the number one cause, followed by dysfunctional families. Easy access is third on the list. By the time you reach the third cause, the process of addiction has already set in. This happens with all of the 256 intoxicants currently known to man.

There is no proof that prohibition works. There is evidence that it doesn’t. Gujarat is a dry state but I’ve known serious cases of alcoholism originating there. Also, alcohol activity has merely shifted to the borders of Gujarat.Production of alcohol and binge-drinking is everyday activity where Gujarat meets Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra and Daman and Diu. The challenge has only moved from one state to another.

It makes more sense to build intervention skills and have empanelled counsellors in the place of stale and failed policy such as prohibition. Kerala, with 713 bars, might need about 2,000 counsellors. Their contact numbers and email ids need to be on government websites and at police stations, hospitals, clinics, colleges, schools and even bars. Kerala, and the whole of India, might also benefit from textbook lessons on the risks of addiction and the rewards of sobriety. For instance, Mahendra Singh Dhoni and Saina Nehwal don’t do drugs or alcohol. Neither do PT Usha, Sachin Tendulkar, Pullela Gopichand or VVS Laxman. The greatest Indian, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, didn’t do alcohol or drugs. Their deeds rest on sobriety and this message needs to be marketed better. Such messages are best received in school – until, say, the age of ten or twelve. Such children have a better chance to grow into sober and successful adults. Messages of sense lose relevance in the teens and 20s by which time no one cares.

Only one in 1,000 Indians seeks help for alcohol issues. It wasn’t even a subject of drawing room conversation until 2012 in India. That year I became the first Indian to go fully open on mainstream television about my addiction. Such success encourages me to talk of a concept that needs to be known – “chemical adulthood”. Legal adulthood is easily understood. It is, for instance, the age one can vote or drive or marry. Many youngsters ask me why they can’t drink at 18 when they can vote. Voting, driving or marrying is not life-threatening. Drinking, or drugs, instantly alters the brain. It can drive a person to self-destructive consumption that might result in painful and premature death. The age to start drinking, if you must, is 27. Science and medicine now tell us that the brain adapts till the age of 26. The brain is better placed to process drugs – alcohol or other substances – after it is fully formed. This means that chemically we are adults only at 27.

At 27, people should be free to drink if they wish to. This is vastly different from asking them to say no, which they don’t bother with anyway. The State must govern. Not play mama or papa. Alcoholism is far too complex for diktat. Counsel is more effective.

Kabaddi has acquired star status but will other "street" games such as pitthu, kho-kho and gilli-danda get their rightful space under the sun?

GROWING UP IN Calcutta meant easy access to the Santhal-dominated regions of West Bengal. Even if that didn’t translate to spending time in the midst of the tribe, trips to Shantiniketan in the winter months were an opportunity to watch, among other treats, the Santhal Sports Day celebrations.

Some of the contests were run of the mill — races, archery and so on — but a personal favourite was the mace fight, the indigenous name of which I have forgotten now. What would happen is that two men – bare torsoed, not necessarily of exceptional build – would sit on a bamboo contraption, somewhat like a gymnastics balance beam, with their legs on either side, pick up a rather big mace made of a jute casing, with jute and cotton inside. At the whistle, they would beat each other up mercilessly. The ability to swing relentlessly while balancing the backside on that narrow seat separated the good ones from the bad. Blows from the mace probably didn’t hurt the players much, but falling off the beam — often at awkward angles as they tried desperately to stay up — must surely have hurt. I’ve seen men fall and land head first on the hard ground and go woozy. But the entertainment was fantastic; each fight lasted approximately 30 seconds.

I wondered then and I wonder now, even more so after the success of the Pro Kabaddi League, whether there might be takers for such a contest if it were to be broadcast on television. Does it sound too much like a segment inside a larger game show? What if it could be glammed up? What if, instead of picking a winner inside 30 seconds, it was a longer contest? What if the winner needed to knock the other chap off five or 10 times — like sets in a tennis game? Now I agree that I’d be a bit sceptical if someone tried to get me excited about the Great Santhal Mace Fight that I’d never heard of. But what about pitthu — variously known as lagori, dikori, lingocha and much else — involving seven stones and a tennis ball? In most parts of India, rich or poor, urban or rural, we all must have played, or at least seen, pitthu being played at some point. Doesn’t it seem like the sort of sport that can be developed for television?

But why am I going on about television? It’s simple. For a sport, any sport, to make money in this day and age, television must be made part of the picture. Even cricket, the biggest sport in India, became as big as it has after the advent of satellite television in the early 1990s. The recent popularity of European football or Formula 1 racing is, similarly, an achievement of television. Kabaddi — for the longest time an unglamorous, indigenous sport of no real stature — is a hit today. Why? That’s because it was remade for television by a bunch of enterprising people. The basic rules and philosophy of the sport were adhered to, but small amendments were made — a bonus-point zone and time limits for each raid, for instance – and the action was jazzed up to make for better viewing pleasure. And it worked.

Let’s come to pitthu now. The only stumbling block that I can see is the fact that there is no organised set-up for the game — there are no pitthu athletes competing seriously, there are no proper clubs. Still, it’s a simple game, one that involves good aim, lots of running around, high energy and athleticism, teamwork, some amount of strategising, and so on. Now, how about if we restrict the number of players per team to seven or so, restrict the area within which the action must take place, give the teams cool jerseys, cover the ground with one of the new synthetic turfs, and then try to make it work? To my mind, there’s a hit formula waiting to be tapped.

The point, as such, is this: the sports we watch and follow, the sportspersons we idolise or dislike, are all made available to us, primarily, by television. They are brought to us. We are made aware of who or what these things and people are. For the longest time, sports such as kabaddi and kho-kho or, indeed, gilli-danda, were thought of as sports that one played as children on streets. Kabaddi has now lifted the lid – enough, perhaps, for entrepreneurs with a penchant for risk-taking to peer through the gap.

One of the interesting things Charu Sharma, director of Mashal Sports, the guys who put together the Pro Kabaddi League, told me was that, for the first year, the teams were bought for a pittance. Even the television rights were sold for a song. The idea was to test the waters, he said. Even the idea of introducing a women’s league to run simultaneously with the men’s was put on hold for the first year (a sad comment on gender parity in sports, of course). They were entering unchartered territory. Going forward, things might — will, I think — change. A successful formula has been discovered.

With kho-kho, gilli-danda, pitthu, or even those mace fights, the start must be made with caution – but now suddenly it looks like a start could be made. A market for novelty (or nostalgia) sport clearly exists, and indigenous sports could tap into it. Someone just has to set the ball rolling.

Pardada Pardadi Educational Society in a village in UP focuses on helping the girl child get the best shot at life with education, life skills and career

The 80 bullets shot at his SUV almost a decade-and-a-half ago punctured the car but definitely not his determination. “When you can see your goal, nothing else matters, does it?” asks the man whose 40 years in the West couldn’t give him the accent some Indians living there even for a few weeks come back with. For minutes after you speak to Virender (Sam) Singh, the once US Dupont South Asia Head, you realise that his dedication and problem-solving approach are his biggest strengths, traits one doesn’t see too often nowadays. So when he reached his village, in western UP, March 1, 2,000, a month after one of his daughters started working in India, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He set up a school for girls that not just provided them formal education but also helped them with life skills and prepared them for the road ahead.

TEETHING TROUBLES

It’s not like he didn’t know there would be roadblocks. He realised the challenge he was up for (Bulandshahar, the district the village comes under is infamous for its high crime rates). “So I had a bulletproof car you, see,” he says smugly. That aside, there were the perception issues (Why should girls go to school, for instance) that Sam was doing all this to garner popularity to become a politician. But when you see your goal ahead, you fight the obstructions that come in the way. Exactly what the soon to be 75-year-old did. And that is the story of the birth of Pardadi Pardadi Educational Society (PPES), a school that turns unsure young girls from a village into confident young women ready to take on the world. What was also set up alongside was the Pardada Pardadi Girls Vocational School (PPGVS).

The focus on vocational skills had a simple reasoning. “How good is schooling if it can’t give you a job? I am not a social worker, I am not an educationist. As somebody who has worked in the industry for 40 years, I knew exactly what India needs. We need skilled people and that is what we want to focus on,” says the founder. The focus on this is so sharp that Singh did all he could to get the girls to school. “It’s simple — if you want to take your team to the moon and they want to go to the beach, you should find a way that goes to the moon via the beach,” he smiles.

Thus, when he wanted to start the school 14 years ago, he used a peg that interestingly got 45 girls coming to school. A bicycle, two pairs of school uniforms, shoes, two sweaters and stationery (goodies worth Rs 3,000 back then) were given free to the girls to get them to come to school. A few days later, however, only 20 per cent of the girls returned to the school. Fathers of rest had sold off the freebies and made their daughter sit at home, like they always did. “I told the teachers to concentrate on the 20 per cent and how we could make that percentage into 21, 22 and, finally, 100 per cent.”

Today the school has 1,300 girls (both science and commerce streams) from 43 villages cycling to their dream. In 2006, PPGVS’ first graduating class saw 13 of 14 girls pass their 10th standard UP Board Exams, and 10 of them passed with first division marks.

PREPARING FOR LIFE AHEAD

After class 10, the girls have two options; they can either pursue further studies through class 11 and 12, or they can join the school’s vocational centre and work in the textile industry. No matter what they choose, the school guarantees all PPES graduates a job.

work in Pardada Pardadi’s Production Centre, which creates home furnishings such as table covers, duvets, sheets, curtains, and gift items such as picture frames, trays, dairies, and coasters. These items are sold (through the organisation’s website, exhibitions and designers) in India and foreign markets. The proceeds from the sale of these goods are then reinvested into the Pardada Pardadi programme, thus allowing more girls to receive education and vocational training. Additionally, PPES also formed a partnership with BlackBerry India in October 2010. The company’s production centres currently manufacture 8,000 suit covers per month, with plans to increase production in the upcoming months. They have also worked with Central Cottage Industries, Hayat Communications, and Dun & Bradstreet.

While in school, the girls are also taken for trips and there are exchange programmes in the school. The idea is to give work towards holistic development for the girls. “I firmly believe that when you educate a girl, you educate the entire family. You are making a change that will go down through generations”, says Sam.

PPES, he adds, believes that education will break the cycle of violence and poverty that follows generations. Girls graduate from the school at an age far more appropriate for marriage. Additionally, as a result of the daily stipend programme, they have a greater degree of social and financial independence. As such, these girls are able to control their lives to a far greater degree and are not reliant upon a husband or another male relative to realise their self-worth. Furthermore, the school teaches the girls about family planning, thereby encouraging the girls to have fewer children.

THE LARGER PICTURE

When Sam was trying to get more girls to come to school, he told the families that he would help triple their incomes. And they did just that, thanks to the various programmes they started with community participation. What also sets the school apart is that it’s not just the girls who are studying in the school; their families also see a change in their own lives. The school not only gives job guarantees to the girls but also provides incentives for families to send their daughters to school. One of the most interesting one being that each girl is paid Rs 10 a day for every day she attends school after class five. This money is kept aside for her in a bank and finally given to her when she gets married. Another incentive means all women/ girls in the family of the girl who attends school being taken care of.

That said, every family that sends their daughter to school is involved in the Community Development Division (CDD), which focuses on the overall growth of economically and socially marginalised villagers, particularly women in 196 villages of Anupshahar. Their programmes have widespread social, financial and livelihood benefits and a large-scale, farreaching impact. The programmes are wholly-owned, run by the women SHG (self-help group) members and are intended to be financially self-sustaining in the short-term and independent in the medium- to long-term.

Today, there are 110 SHGs with over 1,400 members from 38 villages and the numbers are growing. The going is not always easy but what keeps the organisation optimistic is the restlessness of the founder that he nursed over his 40 years in the US. Staying abroad, he says, makes you smarter because you work with competitive people and stay around smart people. These smart people, he says, also ask smart questions, a lot of which were pointed at his country that he dearly missed. When you walk the streets of a nation abroad, you tend to miss your country in a strange way. In his case, it was the memory of playing near the River Ganges in his village in Anoopshahr as a young boy, which haunted him.

Talking about his years abroad, he says, “People see you for what your country is. You are as progressive as the happenings in your country (all of which are, of course, not so pleasant. So I guess there was sense of insult building up inside me.” And that he wanted to do something about the insult shows in the drive he leads the organisation with. “I didn’t want to complain about what wasn’t there, I wanted to do my bit”, he says, signing off.