Cutting Loose

Nothing accords a travel enthusiast more excitement than getting a chance to read the experiences of a fellow traveller. The period, place or purpose of travel is completely immaterial. With an unshakeable belief in the famous maxim by Lao Tzu, ‘a good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving’, I prepared myself for a virtual journey alongside Henri Michaux with A Barbarian in Asia. I read the book not once, but twice. Both times I came away with the same impression. It’s a tome that says a lot but reveals little.

The English translation of Henri Michaux’s Un Barbare en Asie has been presented to the Indian readership courtesy Rupa France, a compilation co-edited by the Cultural Service of the Embassy of France and Rupa & Co.  This effort is an acknowledgment of the fact that modern French literature has yet to find its place in India, or is exorbitantly priced, if available. Alongside classics, those interested in the literary landscape of twentieth century France, also have the option of acquainting themselves with voices hitherto unheard.

Written as a journal, and recounted in a somewhat unique manner, this work, however, does not offer much beyond general observations—and many contradictions—about the countries the author visited and the races he came upon. Barely thirty when he traversed the Asian continent in the 1930’s, his annotations are at times derisive—mostly, disturbing. Possibly unable to comprehend other cultures, so very diverse from his Western way of life, he takes recourse in politically incorrect humour; which, while serving as a reflection of another point of view, rarely makes you laugh.

The writer describes his encounters with the ‘yellow races’ of India, Ceylon, China and Japan in a staccato style, oscillating between topics and events; in no particular chronological order, either. His most animated noting is about the Japanese. It is also his most irreverent. Sample these: ‘The men are ugly, with no sparkle. They are sad, wasted and dry, with the look of petty clerks without a future…’ ‘The women look like servants…’ ‘An insular mentality, uncommunicative and proud’.  Preceding this section, you are subjected to similar gems equally mocking of the Indians, the Chinese and the Ceylonese. The publisher’s note informs us that although this is the original version, Henri Michaux did tone down some of his condescending views, particularly those on Japan, in subsequent editions.

Read ‘A Barbarian in Asia’, if you must, for some very surreal impressions of a maverick adventurer. But don’t forget that pinch of salt.

Note: This review has first appeared in The Tribune.

Vaidehi is the pen name of noted Kannada writer Janaki Srinivasa Murthy. She is hailed by critics and readers alike for her prolific short stories, poems, plays, biographies and translations. Her deep and compassionate understanding of the inner world of women allows her to meaningfully mirror the ordinariness of their lives and yet, eloquently depict their resilience in the face of sorrow and poverty.

Gulabi Talkies is a compilation of twenty of her short stories written through the eighties and nineties with pastoral South India as a backdrop. Edited by Tejaswini Niranjana, these stories have been translated into English by Mrinalini Sebastian, Bageshree S., Nayana Kashyap – Vaidehi’s Madekeri-based daughter – and Tejaswini. Most of the stories convey, through Vaidehi’s celebrated naturalness and wry humour, the female experience, that manifests itself in the daily lives of these women in a distinctive fashion. Through this book, a varied readership will be introduced to a barely-glimpsed, nearly forgotten, rural life; the characters’ preoccupations and their pace of life – nothing short of an anachronism from another time.

The opening of a cinema hall called Gulabi Talkies, in the story by the same moniker, facilitates not just in the transformation of an otherwise sleepy village into a small town, but also that of a midwife into a gatekeeper. In Just a Box, the protagonist invites ridicule and an onslaught of unsavoury rumours in her quest to acquire an old chest, at any cost, from a fellow villager who is hell bent on keeping it from her… at any cost. A young girl causes a flutter when she gaily confesses to an elder neighbour her desire to live the life of a prostitute in Chandale. All of the writer’s characters reach out for understanding and support, whether it is the wilful Ammachchi in Remembering Ammachchi, the thieving Bachchamma in Tale of a Theft or the dedicated Ahalya of Dependants. The stories, themselves, are portrayals of sensitive societal narrative.

Vaidehi’s chosen language of expression is a little-known dialect – she is well-versed in standard Kannada, too – as it is the speech of the region she is depicting. This makes her characters appear all the more distant, culturally. The translators, who don’t inhabit the world of the characters and lead urban lives, have evidently tried to put together a remarkable piece of work that loses nothing in translation. Nevertheless, there is a feeling of regret, as one puts down the book, at linguistic limitations and, therefore, the inability to read Vaidehi in the Kundapur dialect.

Note: This review first appeared in The Tribune.

The Starbucks Experience is a blend of home-brewed ingenuity and people-driven philosophies; the same philosophies that have made Starbucks one of the world’s “most admired” companies, according to Fortune Magazine. Management consultant Joseph Michelli reveals through his book that this admiration is not misplaced. With an exclusive access to personnel and resources, he sets out to discover the company’s inimitable success story.

Starbucks’ roadmap of matchless accomplishments has been charted by its employees, called partners, who create the special experience that brings a customer back repeatedly. This personalised experience, in turn, has played catalyst in stimulating a phenomenal business growth and the generation of huge profits. Starbucks’ generous HR policies and a lively work environment have ensured an energized employee base. Moreover, its attention to detail and a genuine concern for social causes have garnered customer loyalty. The fact that the company’s stock has risen an astounding 5,000 percent since 1992, speaks volumes about its vision.

Unlike many other ‘How To’ books, The Starbucks Experience has been written in a straightforward story-telling style. The book has been divided into five sections named after the core principles, identified by Starbucks leaders, for turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. And each chapter ends with a summarised checklist of points to ponder over, enabling readers to retain the more relevant details.

Through his in-depth analysis of the company, Joseph Michelli outlines the key leadership principles that can make a change in work environs. Under each of those categories, he gives helpful hints to improve leadership styles. They are:

• Make It Your Own
• Everything Matters
• Surprise and Delight
• Embrace Resistance
• Leave Your Mark

Apart from adding a new dimension to leisure reading, The Starbucks Experience also provides techniques to transform your company into another success story by adapting these ways to your own. The insightful innovations adopted by Starbucks to improve their company, make for a good read for a student of management. It is worth a read also for business leaders looking to replicate a values-driven business model. And, for all those who would like, not just to wake up and smell the coffee, but to wake up and smell success.

Note: This review first appeared in The Tribune.

Eugene O’Kelly was the Chairman and CEO of KPMG, one of the largest accounting firms in the US. With giant companies such as Citigroup and General Electric as clients, he was a man on the go driven entirely by business. Here was a man who once flew across the world, took a connecting flight, and seated himself beside an equally busy business prospect, so that he could pitch a sale. Needless to add, he clinched the deal. His life ran with clockwork precision just as he wished; all the while drawing happiness from a supportive and loving family. And golf.

Until the summer of 2005. Following a particularly poor round of golf due to vision, and a noticeable droop in his cheek a few weeks later, a much-delayed visit to the neurologist and further tests revealed late-stage cancer of the brain. Eugene O’Kelly had three months to live. And, he thought he was blessed.

Chasing Daylight is an account of those last months in his own words. It is the story of grit and determination when faced with a no-win situation, heightened visibly by the author’s awareness of this. It is the story of a person who as a CEO had the ability to see the bigger picture, deal with a wide range of problems and plan for exigencies. A person who used the same skill sets to assist him in preparing for his imminent death. He considered it his last project and hoped to make it a positive experience for those around him – his wife Corinne, daughters Marianne and Gina, his immediate family, lifetime friends and close business associates. He did not forget to include those people who were friends because of shared experiences or shared passions; those who may have enhanced his life and vice versa. He called it Unwinding.

I wouldn’t be fooled by the matter of fact tenor of the narration. The tone belies the pain and turmoil that he and his family lived through in the emotionally-wrought days preceding his death. He admits as much. While he may have adjusted to his rapidly deteriorating condition and occupied his time with a to-do list – which included putting his legal and financial affairs in order and planning the funeral – his family found even the thought of his illness insurmountable.

Chasing Daylight offers a lot of food for thought to the discerning reader. It is a remarkable tale told with a never-say-die attitude, literally, and guarantees a thought-provoking read even for the quick-flip reader. While it allows a peek into the mind of one very unique individual, it does not, however, offer an understanding of others’ in comparable circumstances.  Nor does it assist one in coping with personal losses of a similar nature. It is not a self-help guide. Because, there just aren’t as many answers as there are questions once you’ve turned the last page. Such as, can knowledge of one’s death really be approached in this manner? Is there any way, really, to prepare for the unexpectedness of it all? After all, que sera, sera? The jury is definitely still out on that one.

Note: This review first appeared in The Tribune.

First used in 1913 as war jargon, the term Bangalored referred to the process of blowing up wire entanglements by a Bangalore torpedo. This explosive-laden tube was invented in the city, hence, the name. In more recent times, it refers to people in the US who have been laid off because their jobs have been outsourced to India. Specifically Bangalore, the Indian equivalent of Silicon Valley, because it has been the primary beneficiary of this move. Read on, however, to discover the author’s take on this term.

“Do they yawn at bureaucracy, tear their hair out at Indian paradoxes, appreciate Bollywood, make Indian friends, better still fall in love with them, repose faith in the local buses, sleep well, rear children, agree to be taught, stand up to teach, protest against prejudices, correct their perceptions, feel at home, feel homesick, fall ill, get well, get employed, employ others? Do they?” Many such baffling musings drove Eshwar Sundaresan to put together this truly readable work on the expatriate population of Bangalore.

Anecdotal in nature, the narrative is based on interviews conducted by the author over many months. His nosiness brought him into contact with a multitude of characters, ranging from students to IT professionals, Taekwondo coaches to sculptors. He chatted up Chinese shoemakers and chased European corporate honchos. He dined off Trinidadian restaurateurs while picking on spiritual therapists. Evidently, the author has an easy acceptance (barring the odd defensive non-starter) of the diversity of views – not always flattering – expressed by the protagonists about a city he calls home.

He neatly addresses issues of social relevance through their observations. Some of them, as disheartening as incidents of reverse racism. But don’t lose heart. Take the book to its end to discover some selfless individuals who work tirelessly with our poor. Some, mere businessmen, some visionaries, some reluctant spouses and some accidental tourists. A few refugees from strife-ridden states from around the world and a few Indophiles. Whatever their reasons for coming to Bangalore, the one common thread that binds them is that the mere thought of moving to another Indian city is unimaginable.

In the latter half of the book, a brief history of the city acquaints the reader with expatriate population dating as far back as the mid-18^th century when Hyder Ali took to employing Portuguese and French soldiers in his army. This information safely puts to rest the myth that the IT boom of the 1980s caused this great exodus!

Eshwar’s conversational style of writing, in this, his first book, coupled with humourous insight about the people he encountered on the job, results in a light-hearted piece of work, worthy of a lazy weekend. While a perusal of the book will be a purely subjective experience for each reader, Eshwar’s attempt at demystifying the rationale behind floating global citizens does introduce us collectively to an entirely unusual interpretation of the term Bangalored.

Note: This review first appeared in The Tribune.