Why fear when Cloud Seeding is here!

One of the distinct memories I cherish of my first experience in an airplane was flying into foamy, cotton balled, almost heavenly white clouds that hung close to my window seat that I had so excitedly captured. They had reminded me of some of the pictures in my Greek fairy tale books that showed beautifully painted angels dressed in white and gold floating on these pristine clouds. One can only imagine the excitement when I felt like one!

As time passed and flying became common place, there was a recurring sight of colored clouds. Not just grey or indigo towards evening, but almost yellow! Clouds seemed like they needed a wash in a strong detergent to get rid of the awful stains that were few and far between. With time, these only increased in frequency and were visible while on ground too. The concept of “Pollution” was discussed at length and the adverse effects of smoke plus the smog were drilled down in text book lessons. The “Green House Effect” discussions used to end with references to the invisible Ozone layer – at first many school students thought the syllabus included discussion on a new discotheque that had opened in the city! Kids grew with understanding the importance of the O3 as sessions progressed.

The transition from Green House Effect to renewable and non-renewable resources was quite smooth. Just as lighting up a magnesium ribbon! So, water, coal and petroleum were non-renewable. Wait, water was termed as a renewable source when I studied (either I have grown too old or the water table is now in a limbo due to sudden change in usage patterns!). I was quite annoyed when I discovered that I don’t live anywhere close to perennial rivers – which were the Ganga and Brahmaputra! But now I see that even these rivers too have not been able to escape the axe of depletion. Although rains were unpredictable then, the number of complaining heads (about shortage of rains) seems to have multiplied significantly over the past few years. When all this complaining became far too noisy to handle, those in power referred to a technology that was developed a year before the Indian Independence. Cloud seeding, the newspapers reported, would solve the problems of water shortage in Bangalore.

Although no detailed explanation was available, the rains came and how! It poured continuously in places that had never expected rains. Water shortage issues too reduced, if not completely erased. The experiment was repeated in various other parts of the country. In some places it rained to the point of flooding an unprepared city, while in others it was a positive infusion. There was news about how China used it before the Olympics to clear out a smoggy stratosphere. It started to seem like finally there is a method of solving the issue of Pollution. Pollution – one that haunts students who are made to write long essays around it and mankind at large that wants clear, fresh air to breathe (and not spend time & money in Oxygen bars!).

Now Cloud Seeding – the seemingly obvious answer to water / rainfall shortage and thereby the solution to problems of pollution – was first developed by a researcher named Schaefer based on an idea that struck him while he was climbing a mountain (obviously, he must have thought about the ice axe, harness, not to mention his life, after the discovery!). The cloud seeding done in recent times include a heady mix of dry ice, silver iodide, salt (who knew!) and expanded liquid propane gas. Research on the after effects of the methodology has proved that though the effectiveness is there in varying measures, the contents may cause “temporary incapacitation or possible residual injury to humans and mammals with intense or continued but not chronic exposure”. Though exposure to the material can be controlled (hopefully so!) there is another disturbing fact. Although not on the same scale of industrial emissions, the technology amounts to pollution! This toxicity prompted Cloud Seeding to be rejected by Australia, which wanted to protect one of its endangered species.

Whether there an anti-dote to fight the ill-effects of silver iodide exists, is yet to be known. But somehow it seems like a maze of concentric circles where one begins with Pollution as a problem and ends up with Pollution as an after effect.

Wonder when the white fluffy clouds that I once saw out of my airplane window will return to stay for good. May be I could use the abracadabra hexes in the book of Grecian fairy tales!

Image: puppetgov.com

Divya Rao
10th June, 2010
Mumbai

Quirky tourists

To the two noble Danish tourists I met at Leopold’s. May their tribe increase.

Travelling to distant lands filled with different sights and sounds (and smells too!) is always tempting. The very thought of getting away is good enough to ‘Like’ the concept and become a ‘Fan’ of it. The added bonus is that of meeting new faces and exercising your lazy, caffeine-coated tongue to pronounce new names – such as Ngyun and Thiruchitrambalam. Seeing the real life conditions can be quite interesting to note and experience – sometimes tedious too, if it is on a boat with little or no access to basic requirements, such as an espresso or a cheeseburger. The after effects of these experiences can always be balanced by a visit to the “World-famous” spa resort or a halt at the meditation ashram, which has just about all amenities – from 200 international TV channels beamed on a plasma screen to a patisserie serving a wide spread for the “guests” after their paid detox meditation session with a “Guru”! I may have run the risk of sounding like a socialist, but these are just pages from a tourist’s diary – one who could very well be me!

What is mostly intriguing as it is interesting is the exchange of views between the host (mostly a tour guide or occasionally an enthusiastic native) and the guest. What may be of most interest to the tourist may not even be remotely on the radar of the host’s comprehending mind. So, when a tourist armed with a Japanese-branded SLR says I want to see the “city”, it may not necessarily be restricted only to the landmark buildings, gateways, towers, palaces, libraries or pyramids and frescoes by legends with a mysterious past. It may very well include a washer man’s lake! Now, to the native it may be just another spot where his family sends out clothes for laundry and his friends complain on the filth that is unbecoming of a “washing” well. But when Lonely Planet lists it under a MUST SEE list, the curiosity of the tourist is not one to be contained or reasoned with. There should be something unique about this place and indifference towards it from the host is generally not treated with humour and candour. A flick of the head here and a nano-second smirk there is all that is needed to indicate that it is obviously a place that would definitely be seen, with or without the host’s approval! For the native, it may be funny and flummoxing at the same time to see the value of washing spot. ‘What’s the big deal about a Dhobi Ghat?’ reverberates in his mind. Once the tourist is done clicking away to the point of contracting a carpal tunnel, satisfaction descends on finally getting the catch. Now the only questions that arise are of how a collage of the images can be made for putting them up on the social networking site, where he occasionally tills and fertilizes often to win green virtual points for the hard-virtual-work!

There are times when every tourist turns into a silly, attention seeking, out-of-control juvenile. When visiting a place that is a sure shot “Scenic splendour”, or “heaven on earth” or “Milton’s Paradise Lost – you go find it” town or hamlet or even a strip of neatly trimmed land, the hype created by all the brochures and glossy catalogues one would have poured over is many times under-delivered. However, the vacationing implausibly positive mind would not want to accept this fact. So, what does one do? Bring out the camera; and start clicking at random angles training the lens on what could be just another goat or a cow or a mongrel that has strayed into the frame. At the end of it all, the pictures folder can end up with a rusted board with the name of the place hardly visible due to peeling paint, the different angles of the sun, your shadow with the knapsack and camera, a local who was inquisitive about the people in unusual clothing but could not communicate it, a far away hillock that looked anything but a brown mound of you-know-ewwww, and a few snooty clouds – in the sky – that should have ideally descended onto you as endorsed in the glossy catalog. There – you’ve found it – with a thought about that paradise which was supposed to be sighted too!

Sehenswuerdigkeiten in Deutsch or just simply sightseeing places are not the only points of contact for tourist quirks. Some of the biggest revelations happen when it’s mealtime. When a tourist from the sub continent travels to a foreign land, it seems like food was the centre of all attractions that was expected. Once on the foreign soil, some of the Indian appetites start to growl rather loudly at the restaurant manager. Some of the requests seem quite implausible to the restaurant service agents who begin to wear a forlorn look till such time the new entrant with multiple shopping bags from supermarkets such as the MM Migros (wonder what they bought!) leaves. The regular requests – for instance, ‘do you serve vegetable toast sandwich- without mayo, without cream, without butter, and very little bread?’ or ‘can you add sugar to the fondue?’ or ‘would you have some masala or chutney to spice up this burrito bowl? It does nothing to my tongue!’ or even better 'Can you serve the French toast with everything but the egg?'. While tossing the most restrained ‘No’, if close attention is paid, one may hear the Spanish or Deutsch waiters exchange a ‘Do you want to take my place – it’s the “tourist” in red sweater? The one who just asked for chilled butter-milk instead of beer!’

Some might say that there isn’t anything wrong with placing your demands on visiting places that can make a native squirm; or asking for flavours that may turn out to be an ice cream vendor’s nightmare. But the fact remains that it all makes for great observation and many times unexpected entertainment!

So, come ye tourists with thy quirks!

Image Credits:
Dhobhi Ghat- mcillecefamily.org
Migros- travelfeedback.com

Lair of comfort

Too late for new beginnings,
Why does it seem a frivolous, meaningless life?
Values awash on a shore of pinings,
Short of comfort for breathing.

Today meant zilch,
Life wasted on a constant, unmoving warp,
Of time and unstoppable tide,
Over daft indifference and spent moments.

Riding on a carefree draft,
Feet screeched a halt at the comforter’s lair.
Shackles awaited their touch with coldness,
To engulf and numb a surviving soul.

Privilege it seemed for a while,
Soon to turn a point blank,
For there were no greater impediments,
Than those that slaved to cut a master’s moves.

As dawn arrived, a new hope lit up within,
Would it end today, stop now?
Answering them was a hollow echo;
For there was no one left to hear,
In a deaf and deserted town called heart.

IPL and Marketing Brutes

April 26, 2009

The Indian Premier League or the IPL is what seems to be on everybody’s minds these days in India, apart from the colourful bevy of candidates standing to win despite criminal records and/ or Bollywood movies on their resume during these general elections. Now the IPL, like the English Premier League, is an exciting whip up of cricketers from around the globe put in teams supported by the big daddies of Indian business. What attracts a marketing person to this extravaganza of splurge is that though the ‘sport’ factor is pushed to the background, it boasts of some tough, bouncer-like marketing brutes in the business.

It is completely understandable that events such as the IPL are a big catch for pitching one’s company and its products. But this time around, the condition is one of marketing overdrive to the hilt and above. Every cricketer wears clothes that are hardly different from the teams, as they are plastered with logos and punch lines of companies all over their jerseys leaving very little room for any kind of colour to seep out to register in the minds of viewers. The helmets, gloves, pads are not spared either. At the end of it all, the couture ends up looking like the ruins of battle ground of marketing pros who fought over how many square inches the ideal size of the logo should be, the strategic placement and how the cricketer should not wear any other clothing over the jersey as per contract, even if it was a raincoat! I imagine the argument would have to be a breathless one.

I do however fail to understand the kill the advertisers aim at making from the investment. For instance, I wonder if an average sports guy trying to watch a replay would be thrilled to hear the name of company prefixed to super shot, when in fact it was a sixer or a boundary. Or, for that matter, if the logos on the jerseys would have recall value. Trust me when I say that some companies with long names in the company logos tend to make a viewer disinterested in reading it after the first three letters! I believe the scene at the grounds in South Africa (where it is being hosted) is not very different. With stalls of companies sponsoring the events… oops, partnering the event, calling out to sports fans with beer, caps, flags and the jamboree, I reckon the event to be more of a fest, a mela as we say here. May be the fringes are what is attracting the crowd that’s turning up for the matches, which are otherwise lacklustre.

One of the funniest portions of these IPL matches is during the presentation ceremony, after the 20-20 match is over. The ‘Man of the Match’ trophy that is given out to the outstanding player of that particular match is something where the audience tries guessing the name that would be called out to get another cheque (which looks more like a poster for a trade fair), and probably the keys to a motorbike. The presentation party on the dais resembles the congregation for a G20 Summit lined up for a group photograph. Make no mistake, this is another marketing exercise, which no rep wants to leave out, and ensures that he/ she has the company CEO up on the stage, even if the name is mis-pronounced or given a wrong gender title! Now, I would like to talk to the sponsoring parties who have given out the MoM tropies to understand their metrics of calculating RoI. What is most depressing is when the team owner of the losing team has to hand over the trophy to the player of the rival team. Does it still remain a marketing exercise or help build brand? I am still trying to figure it out.

The IPL matches are underway and the marketing excesses have been out for all to see. Without trying to sound risqué, these professionals are quite the sons of guns when it comes to plastering the company names on anybody that even remotely has a chance of being covered by the cameras! As the scrips of the companies that have sponsored have not exactly sky-rocketed on the markets, I am hoping there has been an appreciation of some other sort, at least to cover the shredded venture that it would turn out to be at the end of the cricket cabaret.

Shopping in the time of woes

April 26, 2009

Writing constantly in keeping with a particular underlying emotion at the centre of each piece can become quite tedious for a human in a writer often gets intertwined in circumstances beyond control. It seems more tedious when humour is at (or at least tried to be maintained at) the epicentre of a blog.

During the past few months, the usual haunts that feed news and information for writing has been nothing but depressing. No matter how hard one tries, it is difficult to write anything humorous. Dissociating myself with the cataclysmic terror strikes that I almost missed by a thick sliver of time does not seem to work either. At one point, I considered stopping to read dailies (though it would have been catastrophic to my job and addiction to newspapers), having repeatedly sifted through web pages of terror unleashed just about everywhere in the world. Whenever I tried to jot down my thoughts, verses sounded like lyrics of a Linkin Park song. Fearing it would sound too lamenting, I did force a few words of hope in them, almost like a weeping circus joker’s wild get up to evoke some laughs from a juvenile audience. But in this entire awkwardness, there was a little flame burning in the hope that there would be a return of happy words. Perhaps, as it happens to everybody else, there has been a realization. At the risk of sounding boastful, it may be due to efficient stress management. No, it wasn’t because of a book of a priest who sold his hot wheels. Just good old ego massage and some binge shopping!

Now shopping is not what I would usually pick for a weekend activity for many reasons- a. it involves lot of time in travelling up to the mall, b. the energy spent on looking through each design, colour, fabric, fall and fit per visit can almost be used to write a month’s blog – back-to-back, c. when you wake up from the hypnotic stage of being shopaholic, a question – a rather soap-opera rhetorical – immediately springs in your mind- ‘What have I done?’

But a visit to the clothes section with the intention of buying some can bring out interesting observations. Couples shopping in the ladies section is the most delightful to watch. People who shop with their partners almost end up like the two faces of a drama school. The person who is shopping – mostly the woman – usually seems like she’s on a double dose of Red Bull or a mug full of Espresso! With eyes wide-open and firm mouth, she glides from hanger to hanger, section to section with gay abandon (forgive the old usage of the phrase- fyi, it has nothing to do with sexual orientation), completely oblivious to the store helper who is right behind asking her to enrol in another phone call trap card/ membership and/ or a lucky draw, which would be as lucky as the asteroid of youth that passed 10 years ago. Phew!

The partner – mostly the man – is usually the ideal ambassador for the Frowners’ Club, if there was any! His despair moves from level 1, which is when the lady chucks a lavender pick for mauve gradient, saying that the former is too loud for her taste; to level 3, which is when she tries an asymmetrical top and asks her partner for opinion – ‘Is this alright?’ That in most cases is the point of acomodador, the point where the partner gives up, who by now is carrying a shopping bag of clothes, accessories, and a certain some things the nomenclature of which is as alien to him as a 3 eyed monster; wait- perhaps stranger than aliens.

It must be conceded that the most interesting part is the opinion seeking ceremony of sorts outside the fitting room. The mostly clueless partner transforms himself to be a face reader at this point (that is, if he has not already given up and left the store). Looking at the creases on his partner’s face and head tilt of the reflection of his other half in the mirror, he decisively volleys back answers with flourish. What many ladies in the fitting rooms do not realize is that the man’s answers are all on the fence; almost all nearly don’t care. Yet, somehow decisions are taken and the couples hit the billing counter. The total time spent on the complete exercise of a normal evening easily beats the time length of any Hindi movie. Go figure!

Shopping teaches one lesson though- you may forget your harsh memories for a while, but that need not mean the pain has left you. If there are more clothes in your shopping bags than spaces available in the closet, do not worry. It can certainly mean that you are getting over your woes and sympathy is on its way!