The Value of 'Value'

We Indians are known for our incessant need to find 'value' in what ever we buy. Be it a INR 50 Lac apartment or a INR 5 candy bar. The 20% extra on the wrapper / brochure is bound to figure in our calculations. Economists world over have praised us, comedians world over have mocked us on this quality of ours. Reams of papers written on this subject and years of research has come to the same conclusion - We all have what will be defined in US medical journals as 'OCDV - Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for Value'. It would go something on the lines of - 'pervasive pattern of preoccupation to find value in anything that we put our 'naya paisa' into at the expense of our desires / wishes'.

It is fairly simple to understand the origins of this affliction (at least in my lay mind). From the early 19th century poverty was rampant and a vast majority of us were very much in the 1st stage of Maslow's hierarchy. Independence did not bring the promised 'manna' to our folks and 60 years ago we were still a fledgling country trying to stand on our own feet unable to feed a large proportion of out population.'Roti, Kapda aur makan' - was the great 'Indian' dream (makan coming a far 3rd and aptly so). 'More from less' was the mantra and the only constant was - How could one make his Rupee stretch?

As we started prospering in the 90s, thanks to the economic liberalization policies, this behaviour could have rescinded. Far from it, with money in their pockets, Indians forced the markets to try harder by offering an even wider choice of goods at lower price points. And at the turn of the millennium the new brand-conscious young India started thronging the 'Value' Marts and Factory outlets to satisfy their urge to be trendy while making sure they don't burn a hole in their pockets. Generations had hammered this thought process into us from our fore-fathers was now encoded in out genetic make-up. That in my opinion is why we are as We are.

So what does this OCDV cost us? I don't mean in terms of Rupees or Dollars? I mean in terms of happiness / satisfaction / pleasure of having something which you really want today and not 3 months down the line (when the prices fall). How many times do we give up on something we want because we 'feel' it does not seem to be priced right?

A recent incident comes to mind on this topic. We (my wife and I) wanted to upgrade our camera - buy one with a good zoom, wide angle lens and the works for over 6 months. We did our research, visited stores (to get a 'feel' of the cameras we liked - another Indian trait), compared costs on 100's of sites to see where we would get the best 'click' for our buck. We finally zeroed in on the model we wanted and then the waiting game began.

Discounted Sale-days came and went - Independence day, Labour day, Halloween, Thanksgiving (the much vaulted Black Friday), Christmas, New year. And we waited. Waited for the day when the camera we wanted, the camera we loved, would be available for a price we felt would be the right 'value' for what we were paying. In the meanwhile, we had some amazing vacations (inc. the one in Death Valley mentioned in my last blog - http://deepakjoshi19.blogspot.com/2011/03/deserted-in-desert.html). In all those places we were strung with our poor lil' DSC clicking pics as best as it could. Finally after months of waiting and watching, we gave up and bought the camera at a slightly lower price (though not what we had hoped for). Today I look back and think - what did We save and what did we lose?

Make no mistake, I am not ashamed of this trait. And I don't think We (as in all Indians) should be. It is a trait which has helped us keep afloat in the worst of times and will do so in the years to some. I am proud that this is one idiosyncrasy I will pass on to my children and they will to theirs. But this does not stop me from wondering - where, when and how many times have I killed a desire to find that ever-illusive 'value' ....

Deserted in a desert !!!

There is just something about me and deserts. Call it karma or kismet .. Deserts and I just don't get along that well. To quote Auric Goldfinger (from the Bond movies fame) - 'Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action'. Frankly I dont want to face any enemy action.
Twice I have visited deserts and both the times I have landed in a 'not-so-pretty' situations. The most recent (and hence fresher in my memory - not that I am ever gonna forget either of the two instances anytime soon) was in Death Valley, California.
Now there is a reason why this place is called 'Death Valley'. Death valley is a part of the Mojave desert, and home to the lowest (282 feet below sea level), driest and hottest place (Avg temp in summers - 47 Deg C) in North America. The ground tempratures in this area reach up to 90 Deg C. Not a place for the faint-hearted I tell ya. I mean, just look at the names of the hamlets inside Death valley - Furnace Creek, Bad Water, Stovepipe wells. Even the geologists call such places - BADLANDS. Now that should give you an idea. The origins of the name 'Death Valley' can be traced back to packs of travelers from the East who, in search of riches during California Gold Rush, decided to take a 'short-cut' through the valley only to be decimated by the harsh, dry ruthless desert.
Having said all that - this place is also one of the most beautiful places to see Mother Earth in her magnificent splendour. Having been mostly untouched by man for hunderds of thousands of years, here one can see the most striking views of untamed desert, colorful geologic formations, and scenic vistas. The metamorphoric rock layers expose themselves at various places reveling the wonderful mosaic of colours created over thousands of years. Very much like a quote I read before visiting the valley that - "Being in death valley is like seeing 'layers of time' suspended in animation". Believe me when I say these photos (or for that matter any photos) don't do justice to the beauty of this place.
So here we were all packed and on our way to Stovepipe Wells (which is more of less in the middle of Death Valley) where we had a cottage booked for the night. Along the way, we decided to take a small detour to see some charcoal kilns built in the late 1800 by chinese labourers (who else) in a place called Wildrose Canyon. On our way back to the main road listening to Indian Ocean's 'Maa Reva' on a sharp curve, BAM- we hit a jagged rock protruding out on the narrow road and that was it. Flat tyre, bent rim, stalled car and both of us. Needless to say - I panicked. After a few moments of disbelief and subsequent hyperventilation, I jumped out of the car and looked both ways - not a soul in sight. We both wipped out our cell phones to check for any signals - and u guessed it - zilch.
I decided to man-up (not that I had a choice) and change the tyre my self. I had done this before - not in the middle of a desert with no help whatsoever, but I had done it. Its easy - use the jack, lift the side, unbolt the wheel, replace it with the new wheel and done.
Rolled up my sleeves, got the spare out and what do u know, the jack was some very different looking contraption with a mechanism I had never seen before. After tinkering with it a bit, I hoisted the car up and managed to get the flat out, but before I could replace it with the spare, the jack slipped and down came the car. I must have done something good in one of my earlier lives - that none of us were injured in that slippage. A closer look at the jack reveled that it was an AUDI jack in a VW car and it was faulty.
So there we were in the middle of nowhere, with a flat type and dwindling hope. Having already spent close to two hours with the fruitless exercise of changing the flat, we realised that now there was nothing more we could do. So we dumped the luggage, flat and jack back in the car and decided to take our chances hiking back 5 - 6 miles to a ranger station we 'thought' we had seen. Just 5 minutes in to the hike, lo and behold we saw our saviours in a white horse (actually it was a grey Kia). Can you believe our luck - stranded in the middle of nowhere and an Austrilian who had worked as a mechanic and his partner happened to drive by. Now that is stuff out of the movies right - 'Serendipity II - Lost in the desert' :D.

This mate showed me how a professional does it - using stones for support and getting down on all fours in the hot desert, 10 minutes later we were good to go. I must say I now have a new found respect for Australians (despite Ricky Ponting :D).
We did have a wonderful experience for the rest of the time we spent in Death valley and I would recommend it to anyone who has time on hand and a thirst for some adventure. Go Aussies !!!

PS- the other incident of being stuck in a desert was in the Arizona desert with my cousin. Will leave that for another time and another place.

Out in the Cold

I recently traveled to the heartland of the US - Wichita Kansas to be precise. Its one of the larger cities in the mid west which I guess, thanks to its past history of industrial prosperity, still maintains a sense of dignity and purpose in an otherwise list of places which are slowly becoming increasingly insignificant corners of the world.
Flying @ 40000 ft,as we began our desent in to Mid Continental Airport, Wichita the thought that came to me instantly was poetic - 'how lovely the snow looks!! Like the whole ground is covered by a spotless white soft carpet as far as the eye can see. Rivulets, hills, valleys, roads, trees all covered with the same uniform coat of purity.' Snow - its a great leveler, I thought. Treats everyone and everything equal.
But the moment I stepped out of the aircraft, the poet in me died an instant death. I was hit with the 'cold' reality of how cold it really was. Note to self - technology can tell you what the temprature is in any corner of the world at any time of the day - present or future. But it cannot tell you how COLD it is. That, one needs to experience himself.
Before leaving sunny California, I had checked the weather in Wichita on multiple weather sites . channels / newspapers - and all of them had confirmed it to be in the range of 7 F to 20 F. I was unmoved. I had been to Germany in the early months of January, had trekked at the Rohtang Pass in India, how bad could this be. Well I was about to find out.
The ride from the airport to my workplace was particularly interesting. I found out that the two minute walk from the temprature controlled airport to the rental car in the open lot was enough to chill my blood and give me an instant headache like never before. I would feel the my innards screaming as I fumbled with the keys to unlock the car. And the car, oh the car - it was like sloshed ice flowing slowly through my veins as soon as I sat in it (talk about being COLD BLOODED). It was around then - about 10 mins into my stay in Wichita I knew, if I was to survive this, I would need the works - skull caps, pairs of gloves, thermals (all in plural) and a lot of rum (not necessarily in that order).
Cut to day 2 - after having borne the brunt of day 1, I was much better prepared for day 2 with the 'works' (or so I thought). It was a deceptivly bright and sunny day. As I walked out to the parking lot of the hotel I saw the car covered with ICE (not SNOW, Ice). The windscreen, the windows, the fenders et al. And Ice unlike the nice fluffy snow STICKS. That's about when I understood the purpose of the large wooded scrub brush in the trunk of my car. I started with a jolly tune of an old nursery rhyme in mind ('This is the way we brush our teeth, brush our teeth, brush our teeth' tune) going 'This is the way we scrape the ice, scrape the ice, scrape the ice'. 2 minutes into this and all my extremities began to freeze and the tune was all but lost in the chatter of my teeth. And that was the end of that. I am not sure how long I scraped the ice - but sure enough I was traumatized and permenantly scarred for life by the time I got in the car. Now I know why folks there turn on their cars and go for a coffee !!!
The last incident which comes to my mind my encounter with a phenomenon called 'Black Ice'. Black ice are thin invisible layers of ice that form roads and pavements when temprature falls way below the freezing point of ice. The biggest problem is that being transperant one cannot see it on the road and that when you start truly believeing in Newtons 1st Law - 'An object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.' Thats exactly what happens to cars when they drive on black ice. No amount of breaking works and fortunately for me I found out about this in the hotel parking lot. A low pavement had to break my car movement when I was driving out to get some dinner. Needless to say - I parked the car back in its slot and had a microwave dinner in the hotel itself. As they say - Discretion is the better part of valour.
Having experienced such extreme harsh weather first hand my respect for the folks who live in such and even colder parts of the world has increased by leaps and bounds. Hats off folks .. and skull caps on :D :D ...

A Pinch of Salt

A few years ago, I visited the 'Chotta' or 'Small' 'Rann of Kutch' - a dry, barren, extremely inhospitable mud desert in the western India. This region - a part of the larger Rann of Kutch which borders Pakistan on the north and the Arabian sea on the south, is a flat, low-lying plane with extreme weather. During the day the sun beats down mercilessly and heats up the parched earth upto 50 Deg C and the nights it drops below freezing point. This region of India is so backward that even the Government of India has not surveyed 5000 Sq Kms of land - EVER.

And what were we doing there? As it happens, this region receives very scanty rain during a few months of Monsoon, and due to the soil composition (mostly clay,) the water does not seep in to the ground. This causes an annual 'flooding' and forms marshes and shallow water bodies in some parts of the Choota Rann. These water bodies act as temporary resting points for thousands of migratory birds including pink flamingos. This region is also home to the famous Asiatic Wild Ass.
During our stay there we had a chance to visit a tiny salt farm in the middle of nowhere. Let me paint the picture for you - Imagine flat, dry, hard, flakey ground beneath your feet, and as far as the eyes can see up to the horizon. Its so hot that a few seconds directly under the sun, and you have a parched throat and dizziness sets in. Your eyes play games with your mind, and you can see mirages all around.
There in this unrelenting and unforgiving weather, a man, with his rolled-up muddy pants was wading in shin deep salt water collected in a square 30 feet x 30 feet x 1 feet ditch. Our guide, a local chap, told us that these salt farmers were part time contract farmers during winters. In summers when there was no work on the farms in the inlands, they had to come out in the rann and earn a living for 6 months working on these salt farms. The way it works, as he explained is that, the farmer first manually digs 3 - 4 such ditches to collect the water. These ditches act as 'pans' to evapourate the saline water. For the saline water itself he digs a 10 - 25 feet deep hole in the mud (again manually) and pumps it out in to the 1st 'farm'. As the heat evapourates the water, he moves the concentrated water to the 2nd farm, and then to the 3rd till the water gives out crystals of salt. During this whole 6-month period the water has to be continously tended to and the farmer wades in the water the whole day. This is harvested and sold to merchants for a pittance. The fruits of his labour - Rs 15000 for the whole 6 months of effort. In that amount he has to manage the fuel for the pump, and his sustenance.
And even in such hardship, the farmer was as jolly as one could be in weather, enthusiastically telling us about how he hopes his son will lead a better life thanks to the salt he produces. His 10-year old son walks 2 - 3 kms to school everyday. His school is a makeshift tent over a depression in the otherwise flat terrain (to keep it relatively cooler), a small black board and a few other children of salt farmers from nearby areas.
On our way back, our guide told us that when these farmers die, and their bodies are cremated on the funeral pyre, everything is reduced to ashes - everything but their feet, which become so callous due to the wading in saline water day in and day out. And that he said is how they left their 'footprint' on earth after they were long gone.
Even today, every now and then I remember that salt farmer and this of the price he pays for adding flavour to our lives.