A great service for those who want to check their mails on-the-go but do not have a high-end phone or do not subscribe to GPRS: SMSmyEMail.com

Some of the features:
# No downloads and no internet/GPRS connections required.
# No signup Fees.
# Get 50 Free alerts on adding an email account.
# 5 Free alerts added to your account per week for first ten thousand users.
# Get 20 Free alerts for each referal. *Referred member should add an email account to SMSmyEMail.
# Works on your existing cell phone.
# Choose who you get email from on your cell phone – no spam!
# Works on all Indian Mobile network carriers.

This is really interesting. Primarily because it caters to a huge market of people who do not have GPRS (or do not intend to subscribe to it because of the cost factor).
Additionally, an SMS based service is very easy to use and quite convenient.

I usually do not post forwarded material here. But this one was an article written by Subroto Bagchi, whose articles were one of the few good ones to read in the ToI, hence am posting it here.

In my opinion, this is an excellent article and I would urge you to read it.
Thanks to Bandar for sending this across.

———————————-

T I M E S O F M I N D
The fallen Tomato Cart

SUBROTO BAGCHI
(Subroto Bagchi is co-founder & CEO of MindTree Consulting)

I pass through this very intersection every morning with so much ease. Today, the
pace is skewed. There is a sense of disarray as motorists try to push past each other
through the traffic light. The light here always tests their agility because if you miss
the green, you have to wait for another three minutes before it lets you go past
again. Those three minutes become eternity for an otherwise time-insensitive nation
on the move. Today, there is a sense of chaos here. People are honking, skirting
each other and rushing past. I look out of my window to seek the reason. It is not
difficult to find because it is lying strewn all over the place.

A tomato seller’s cart has overturned. There are tomatoes everywhere and the
rushing motorists are making pulp of it. The man is trying to get his cart back on its
four rickety wheels and a few passersby are picking up what they can in an attempt
to save him total loss. Though symbolic in the larger scheme of things, it is not a
substantive gesture. His business for the day is over.

The way this man’s economics works is very simple. There is a money lender who
lends him money for just one day, at an interest rate of Rs 10 per day per Rs 100
lent. With the money, he wakes up at 4 am to go to the wholesale market for
vegetables. He returns, pushing his cart a good five miles, and by 7 am when the
locality wakes up, he is ready to sell his day’s merchandise. By the end of the
morning, some of it remains unsold. This his wife sells by the afternoon and takes
home the remainder, which becomes part of his meal. With the day’s proceeds, he
returns the interest to the money lender and goes back to the routine the next day.
If he does not sell for a day, his chain breaks.

Where does he go from here? He goes back to the money lender, raises capital at
an even more penal interest and gets back on his feet. This is not the only time that
destiny has upset his tomato cart. This happens to him at least six times every year.
Once he returned with a loaded cart of ripe tomatoes and it rained heavily for the
next three days. No one came to the market and his stock rotted in front of his own
eyes. Another time, instead of the weather, it was a political rally that snowballed
into a confrontation between two rival groups and the locality closed down. And he is
not alone in this game of extraneous factors that seize not only his business but also
his life. He sees this happen to the “gol-gappa” seller, the peanut seller and the
“vada pao” seller all the time. When their product does not sell, it just turns soggy.
Sometimes they eat some of it. But how much of that stuff can you eat by yourself?
So, they just give away some and there is always that one time when they have to
simply throw it away.

Away from the street-vendor selling perishable commodity with little or no life
support system, the corporate world is an altogether different place. Here we have
some of the most educated people in the country. We don the best garbs. We do not
have to push carts; our carts push us. We have our salary, perquisites, bonuses,
stock options, gratuities, pensions and our medical insurance and the group accident
benefit schemes. Yet, all the while, we worry about our risks and think about our
professional insecurity. We wonder, what would happen if the company shifted
offices to another city? What would happen if the department closed down? What
would happen if you were to take maternity leave and the temporary substitute
delivered better work than you did? What would happen if the product line you are
dealing with simply failed? In any of those eventualities, the worst that could happen
would still be a lot less than having to see your cartful of tomatoes getting pulped
under the screeching wheels of absolute strangers who have nothing personal
against you.

All too often we exaggerate our risks. We keep justifying our professional concerns
till they trap us in their vicious downward spiral. Devoid of education, sophisticated
reasoning and any financial safety net, the man with the cart is often able to deal
with life much better than many of us. Is it time to look out of the window, into the
eyes of that man to ask him, where does he get it from? In his simple stoicism, is
probably, our lost resilience.

“He has been given the red light on the top anyway. Isn’t that enough?”

A question that made the two of us, an auto driver (the orator) and me, chuckle through the light rain that splattered across the gaping windows of the auto rickshaw.

It was a Friday evening and since I had not taken my car to office, I was on the lookout for an auto to head back home. A 20 minute long wait under a light drizzle ended when I finally spotted an empty auto who agreed to take me home.

“Quite difficult to get an auto today”, I muttered.

“Holiday sir. Today is a holiday, that’s why”, the driver replied.

That explained it. The day was off since people were celebrating the festival and hence there was a shortage of autos.

After a brief while during which I made a few calls, the driver said, “People here are so engrossed in celebrating festivals. There is absolutely no sense of service to customers”.

I didn’t quite get that and said so.
“About there not being enough autos, sir. What if someone has an emergency? What will they do? In the meanwhile these auto-drivers would be drinking and smoking, all in the name of the hubba (festival)”

I was surprised to hear him say this about his brethren. But, the best was yet to come.

“You should see the auto drivers in Mumbai. They are so disclipined. You don’t even need to ask them whether they are willing to go somewhere. You just sit in the auto, and off they will go.
However, here all these guys ask for one-and-a-half, 10 rupees more all the time. And most of the time they refuse to take commuters anywhere. They have absolute no sense of service.”

Having experienced the Mumbai auto drivers, I readily agreed with that fact of his. And Bangalore auto drivers are indeed notorious for not being all that commuter-friendly but are yet to catch up with their Chennai counterparts.

“Sir, there are 2.5 Lakh auto rickshaws in Bangalore alone”, he continued. Do you know why there are so many?

“Poor bus service?”, I ventured.

“No. That is there yes. But most of these kids fail their 10th standard. Then they hang around doing nothing for a year. When the pressure at home mounts, they catch hold of some auto owner near their locality, rent it out and earn some 50 to 100 rupees. This has become a culture of easily being able to make some money in a day.”

“These auto drivers just want to idle away their time at auto stops. And we all get branded as being rude and irresponsible”, he continued.

“Sir, the government is also being quite stupid.”

“Why?”

“These Tata Indica cabs cost around Rs 4.50 per km to run and for us auto rickshaws cost only Rs. 1.50 per km to run when on LPG. Yet, we are charging Rs 6.00 to customers like you. Isn’t this unfair?”

I always thought it was unfair.
“But, wasn’t it the auto association members themselves who wanted Rs. 6.00?”, I bring out the old angst against these people who always hold the city under ransom when their demands are not met.

“Yes, and those are idiots. If I am charging you Rs. 6.00 per km, should you not expect the same kind of service that a taxi driver gives you? The same kind of respect? These auto drivers don’t treat customers well and yet they want Rs. 6.00!”

Good point, I told him.

“Sir”, he continued, “auto driving has good money. We guys can easily earn more than government kelsa (government job). In fact today I put Rs. 150 worth of gas and have made a collection of Rs. 530 since morning. It is important to plan well at this age. Only good planning will help us in the future.”

“Yeah”, I mumbled, finding it difficult to believe that an auto driver was actually speaking against a fraternity that is held so close by many of his peers.

The rain continued to fall across the gaze of street lights which adorned the middle section of the sky. The vehicles were doing their usual honking and smoking bits.

Around this time, while we were waiting at a traffic signal, a convoy came and halted right alongside us. The Honda CRV next to us contained the former CM of Karnataka, Mr. Dharam Singh. The reason why I use the word contained is owing to the size of this occupant, who resembled more of a cargo shipment rather than a passenger.

“All these people are crooks, sir. This white car of his is because of our money. What did this guy have before getting into politics? And now they roam around with our money”, the auto driver suddenly had his face dropping down in disgust. The earlier enthusiasm of talking about setting the auto rickshaw system right was gone and was replaced by a sense of despair.

“Shouldn’t the traffic cop at the signal give way to us? How come this guy is also stopping at the signal along with us?”, I asked more as a question to myself.

“He is in the opposition now, sir. Why will the traffic cop pay any heed?”

“Still, he is the former chief minister after all. Shouldn’t there be some respect shown?”

“He has been given the red light on the top anyway. Isn’t that enough?”

As he said this and turned around with a flash of a smile, we both broke into laughter.
The rain continued its drumming as we found a strange sort of comfort in the collective sarcasm of our laughter. Our sarcasm knew that in spite of all our remarks, it was always going to be us at the receiving end of the much talked about system . Yet, we were laughing at the irony of it all. And the rain seemed to pretty much nod in agreement with its repeated pattering.

Last night (or rather, this morning) at 2:00 am we set out to Akilles‘ home to see him off at the airport.
The dude is an authority on English and European civilization, and hence it was quite apt that he was going to the UK to do his MBA.

The rains were intense and the drive was good, with the radio on and the guys keeping the humor going.

The scene at the airport was surprisingly spartan. There was enough parking space for a change, there were hardly any people around and the night had never moved this slowly.

After an hour’s wait while the dude of the moment finished checking-in and paying a bag full of money because of excess baggage (the pressure cooker was the culprit, a British Airways rumor), we managed to see him on the other side of a plastic wall. The way this wall was designed was proof enough that the airport authorities don’t really lead social lives. There is absolutely no way to talk to the other person, except indulge in lip reading and intense speculation. Thanks to a good samaritan, the plastic wall was broken in a couple of places through which we could exchange words and, in the end, handshakes.

Akilles is going to have fun in UK. And tonight is NJ’s turn, who is also heading out to the land of the empire. Needless to say, she is going to miss out on some of the Kannada elements which she aided in preserving. More on this, some other time.

Good luck to both of you. May the sun shine on you; and especially so when India plays a cricket match in that country.

For the record, we got back home at 5:00 am and yet I managed to leave for office by 9:00 am. Rocking.

Quote of the day:

“You have to know how to accept rejection and reject acceptance.” – Ray Bradbury

Courtesy: Quotationspage.com

BabaJob.com – A great initiative in bringing Web 2.0 to the people who cannot or are least likely to use a computer.

This is a job website that lists job-seekers in the below Rs. 10000 per month category. Looking for house-maids, cooks or drivers? BabaJob is the place to recruit them from.

To quote their website:

It’s based on the simple idea that everyone deserves to get a better job – even if you can’t read English and work in another’s home. Most people find jobs through people they know – namely their extended social network – and most employers – particularly when hiring employees that work in the home, would like to hire a person who someone they trust can vouch for.

Here’s an example: Let’s say Rajesh is looking for a cook and places an ad with us for Rs 700. After searching on babajob.com, he ultimately decides to hire his uncle’s driver’s sister. Assuming all these folks are on babalife.com, then both Rajesh’s uncle and his driver, will earn Rs 100.

We know that many of the people who might be hired through babajob.com may not have access to a computer or phone, and so their accounts can managed by a friend, relative, NGO or even a cyber-café operator – called a mentor. Again, whenever someone is hired, their mentor also earns Rs 100.

Here is an article that was carried in the Bangalore Mirror on Babajob:

“The informal sector is growing tremendously but there still isn’t an organised method to find workers like watchmen, clerks, drivers … we want to bring that market online and create more opportunities for employees and accessibility to employees,” Babajob Services Ltd CEO Sean Olin Blagsvedt said.

Sean said he chose the name because it means father or patriarch in many languages and is easy to spell. The website is slowly gaining popularity among workers. “At least 20 to 25 people come up here everyday to register. We have already contacted NGOs and other government organisations to get more people to sign up,” Anita said.

The excitement is obvious in the work area. One can only imagine the many doors of opportunity this venture will open for the disadvantaged, especially considering the fact that this will be the first job and social networking site to be available in Hindi, Kannada and Tamil in addition to English.

As of now, this site has its operations in Bangalore only.
I think this is a great initiative, and a lot different from the traditional beaten path of job search sites.

One initiative: Reforming and re-building Dharavi, Asia’s largest slum
Two parties involved: The builders and the slum dwellers.

Two perspectives.
First, that of the builders: here

For the Dharavi rehabilitation, 26 consortia comprising 78 companies have filed preliminary bids. The project’s total cost is estimated at Rs. 9,250 crore ($2.3 billion), covering housing, civic infrastructure and amenities. It will be distributed across five contracts valued at between Rs. 1,000 crore ($250 million) and Rs. 2,500 crore ($625 million) each. Winning bidders will pay a “premium” to the government in exchange for the development rights. Mehta says the state government could collect premiums totaling as much as Rs. 4,000 crore ($1 billion), which will come out of the developers’ profits.

Mehta’s model is designed to cross-subsidize free housing and infrastructure with for-sale housing and commercial space. Under the plan, developers will provide free housing of 225 sq. ft. to each of 57,000 families. These would be one-room studio apartments with an attached bath and kitchen, plus related utilities and amenities including schools, colleges, hospitals and parks. The developers will offset their costs with for-sale housing and commercial space at market rates. Some of that will come from the market prices residents and commercial establishments like shops will be required to pay for space greater than 225-sq.-ft. A portion of the developers’ revenues from these for-sale properties will accrue to the government as a premium.

Second, the perspective of the slum inhabitants: here, here, here, here, here and here.

But, as with any large project, there is opposition. On June 18, Dharavi shut down and many residents joined a procession to the Slum Redevelopment Authority office. They were not consulted about these plans, and they are unhappy with what they hear about them. For example, that they will be rehoused in 225 sq ft flats: for many, smaller than what they have now. It’s an old fact of life that people here run small businesses — from tailoring to workshops — out of their homes. How will that happen in 225 ft?

First up, of course, is that Sharada works in a “garment” — one of the nearly infinite number of tiny Dharavi sweatshops that turn out clothes, in her case, jeans. Then it’s “maintain”. In the little shack they used to occupy, their outgoings were a monthly rent (bhada, they say) of Rs 20 and the electricity bill, usually about Rs 200 a month. They agreed to the move up because water was a constant problem, involving a trek to a communal tap, and because they had to use a public toilet, also a trek. Move, said the builder, and you’ll be in a building with just three flats on a floor, water and toilet in your home, electricity bill about the same, and you’ll only have to pay about Rs 300 a month as “maintain”. That last, meaning the fees in a building like this, to pay for lift, watchman, trash collection — general maintenance, hence the word.

Seemed like a bargain.

After the jhopadpattis were torn down, they lived for six years in Kurla, then moved to their new flat last year. Came some shocks. Four flats per floor, first. Higher electricity bills, second — up to Rs 550 a month. And third, the “maintain”: not the promised 300, but Rs 600. Monthly outgoings have risen about five-fold since the jhopadpatti days. But incomings — adding up to about Rs 6,000 a month — have not risen five-fold. Oh no.

It’s an airy, bright flat, and the two women are grateful for the private toilet and water. But it no longer seems such a bargain. “Builder kitna palti kiya, dekh!” (“See how he flip-flopped”) is Vimal’s comment, followed with: “We should get capacity for the money we give, yes or no?” She means paisa-vasool, value for money.

What will happen to the millions living in that slum?
What will happen to the enterprising spirit that has managed to keep this slum alive and economically sustainable for years?
Will you and I care or think about that?
As one enterprising bright spark put it in a comment on one of those many posts on Dharavi’s reconstruction: Landing in Mumbai airport would look better.

That is the extent of our understanding?
I hope not.

I slide my car right into the middle of the jam at a traffic signal.
On the other side of the road, which is a relatively calmer place, are 3 beggars. One is atop a wheelbarrow-looking cart and another is resting his arms on the rear handle of that cart.
The third is sitting on the pavement and smoking a beedi.

What was striking about this scene for me was that it was a complete contrast to the business associated with beggars – walking around with bowed heads, palms outstretched skywards and a pleading painful look.

However, in this scene, there was calmness and peace. They were engaged in some conversation, with frequent smiles and drags of the beedi. The shade of a large tree provided the softness to the entire imagery. The woman seated on the cart ran her fingers through the hair of the two little children sleeping alongside.
No cars sped by, no people trotted by.
The breeze was light and the hour was perfect for a moment to freeze in my mind.
Hypocritical to an extent, but I felt good to see that people were indeed able to enjoy a few moments of happiness even with an uncertain future.

The void of happiness that froze for that instant was immediately gushed out by thoughts of the traffic signal, the work at hand, the minutes ticking by and the plan for the rest of the day.
But that brief moment has stuck on. And I am glad it has.

Caitlin Upton, an 18 year old Miss South Carolina Teen, answers the following question posed at a pagent:

Question: Recent polls have shown a fifth of Americans can’t locate the United States on a world map. Who do you think this is?

Answer: I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uh, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and, uh, I believe that our, uh, education like such as in, uh, South Africa and, uh, the Iraq and everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., uh, should help South Africa and should help Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future for our children.

Watch the video here.

Stumbled upon this while browsing Techcrunch.

Taking off from where we left yesterday, I have been doing my rounds of the social networking scene in India.

I do this not from the inherent hope of bumping into some cute, 24, female, aspiring model sort of profiles. I do so only because I am working in the internet space and want to assess this space.

What I have found so far is that most recent social networking sites in India have a huge percentage of non-serious users, users who are there precisely to scavenge for the kind of profiles I so vehemently denied earlier.

Sample this entry from a user’s blog in one of the sites:

Looking for genuine beatuful sophisticated genuine friendship from brilliant beautiful girls who have rich values from India….

The spelling mistakes are not mine of course. And this was just a sample representation of a majority of the content available out there.
Sites like Orkut have made it big in India not because they were the first movers (they weren’t). I think what worked in their favour is that during Orkut’s popularity upswing, the access to internet (in India) was expensive.
Hence, most people who bought internet access back then were more serious users.
Once the costs of surfing (trudging in India) the internet came drastically down, many less serious users had access to the internet.

And hence, we now have the wonderful profiles on all the sites.
I love the current scenario. I am not sure how the owners of these sites plan to make their money, but I think we shall definitely see a lot of “a/s/l” queries being now manifested into the form of scraps.

That is the fun of watching social networking right now
By the way, keep your fingers crossed. You might just get scrapped by a hot, female, single with the tag line “Hai, wanna do frendship with me”.

Until then, keep checking this space.