Composing my fog rant led me to thinking about Health & Safety within India, or moreover, the lack of it.
India has an unusual parliamentary system in so far as a cabinet minster will openly pay for a prime Governmental portfolio.
Elsewhere in the world this would rightly be seen as opening the door to corruption. After all, why pay for a position unless it offers good returns?
This enigmatic process seems to be accepted as par for the course, thus leading to a systematic trickle down effect through the layers of Government and business via payment of bribes or wheel greasing “backsheesh” as it is known colloquially.
The WIIFM factor (What’s in it for me?) is so ubiquitous you can almost hear it grinding the economic brakes as it paves a cowboy path to inefficiency.
Illegally sited hoardings for local activists are found at every other road junction with the untrustworthy faces of moustached, jowly politicians staring outwards towards the teeming masses almost threatening them to vote their way.
So, given this blatant corruption we are left with two feasible hypothesis(es) .....plural alert! plural alert!..... to explain the HSE situation:
1. The minister in question has paid so much for his post any company or corporation can buy their way around the legal framework.
2. The portfolio was so unattractive that no minister bid for it meaning there is no such thing as an Indian HSE
Either way, it fails to make living in India an appealing option for the risk-averse.
Wednesday 21 January 2009
Tuesday 20 January 2009
Fog
With India being a country of virtual continental expanse, it should come as no surprise to discover that the weather at one extremity can be entirely different from that in a distant location.
In European terms, think journeying from Turkey to Finland and I guess you are somewhere in the ball park.
January in Mumbai has seen temperatures hovering around a pleasant 32 degrees in the day with humidity quite acceptable. Perfect pool weather really.
Winters in Delhi on the other hand can be chilled cold air sliding down from the Himalayas across the Gangetic plains.
The inevitable result of this is fog. Thick fog.
My flight to Delhi last week was delayed due to a heavy duvet of moisture which had settled over Northern India.
Wednesday, Thursday and Friday thankfully offered clearer skies and crisp, almost spring like weather.
On the Saturday Sue and I ventured from Delhi to Agra, a 4.5 hour road journey through the poor backlands of Uttar Pradesh to the feted ex-capital of Shah Jahans Moghul Empire.
Agra is was where Shah Jahan left his mark before shifting his capital to Delhi, but it retains more than it’s fair share of historical notage, nothing so more than being home to the Taj Mahal.
The marble monument to love is a mausoleum dedicated to his favourite wife and is billed as the most beautiful structure ever created by man. Don’t get me wrong, the North Bank at Vetch Field came a close second, but at the end of the day it’s toilet facilities were a bit, well, pissy.
Given the nature of the architectural behemoth and all the mythology of love surrounding it, we decided to push the boat out and stay at the Oberoi Hotel which at a mere 600M distance commanded spectacular views from its lofted position atop of a slight incline.
The hotel is the nearest of the top end options to the Taj Mahal itself and being surrounded by beautiful gardens with all rooms offering a Taj Mahal view, it is able to charge a significant mark up of £350pn for a room.
Now, this isn’t my usual price category and I would usually be searching for a figure with the “3” lopped off the front, but as I say, it did command unparalleled views of the Taj Mahal and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to stay in a place offering such 5* splendour.
Imagine the excited knot in my stomach then when on the Sunday morning I rose around dawn to a faintly familiar light. It was like the light of a snowy winters morning.
I drew back the curtains and there it was…..
Fog.
Thick, smothering, all encapsulating fog.
Views of the Taj Mahal? This not so fine morning my £350 didn’t even get me a view of the garden.
The fog was so thick it was impossible to make out anything beyond the balcony. What a bummer.
We decided to have breakfast in bed (not inclusive) and wait for the fog to lift.
I checked every half hour and by 9.30 there it was, just about visible to the naked 20:20 eye.
My £350 view in all it’s glory.
Now this fog, thick though it may have been, wasn’t the thickest fog I had experienced during the week.
No, the title of “Fog of the Week” went to an unexpected cloud which descended upon our offices on the Monday lunchtime.
Someone from the Mumbia Corporation had given licence to a likely ill-educated local to approach any buildings in the area without prior warning and spray toxic insecticide inside and out.
Sat as I was on the mezzanine level I had to feel my way through the choking fumes, part blinded by the sting of the gas.
All but two of my work colleagues found it very funny. Nobody seemed to be considering the fact that this was likely causing damage to eyes, skin and respiratory system.
As soon as they could tolerate the fumes they went back inside and continued their lunches.
Sue, a wise young lady from our design team and myself decided to stay outside in the relatively fresh Mumbai air in order to give our bronchi and bronchioles at least a fighting chance.
T.I.I. as the phrase goes.
This is India.
In European terms, think journeying from Turkey to Finland and I guess you are somewhere in the ball park.
January in Mumbai has seen temperatures hovering around a pleasant 32 degrees in the day with humidity quite acceptable. Perfect pool weather really.
Winters in Delhi on the other hand can be chilled cold air sliding down from the Himalayas across the Gangetic plains.
The inevitable result of this is fog. Thick fog.
My flight to Delhi last week was delayed due to a heavy duvet of moisture which had settled over Northern India.
Wednesday, Thursday and Friday thankfully offered clearer skies and crisp, almost spring like weather.
On the Saturday Sue and I ventured from Delhi to Agra, a 4.5 hour road journey through the poor backlands of Uttar Pradesh to the feted ex-capital of Shah Jahans Moghul Empire.
Agra is was where Shah Jahan left his mark before shifting his capital to Delhi, but it retains more than it’s fair share of historical notage, nothing so more than being home to the Taj Mahal.
The marble monument to love is a mausoleum dedicated to his favourite wife and is billed as the most beautiful structure ever created by man. Don’t get me wrong, the North Bank at Vetch Field came a close second, but at the end of the day it’s toilet facilities were a bit, well, pissy.
Given the nature of the architectural behemoth and all the mythology of love surrounding it, we decided to push the boat out and stay at the Oberoi Hotel which at a mere 600M distance commanded spectacular views from its lofted position atop of a slight incline.
The hotel is the nearest of the top end options to the Taj Mahal itself and being surrounded by beautiful gardens with all rooms offering a Taj Mahal view, it is able to charge a significant mark up of £350pn for a room.
Now, this isn’t my usual price category and I would usually be searching for a figure with the “3” lopped off the front, but as I say, it did command unparalleled views of the Taj Mahal and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to stay in a place offering such 5* splendour.
Imagine the excited knot in my stomach then when on the Sunday morning I rose around dawn to a faintly familiar light. It was like the light of a snowy winters morning.
I drew back the curtains and there it was…..
Fog.
Thick, smothering, all encapsulating fog.
Views of the Taj Mahal? This not so fine morning my £350 didn’t even get me a view of the garden.
The fog was so thick it was impossible to make out anything beyond the balcony. What a bummer.
We decided to have breakfast in bed (not inclusive) and wait for the fog to lift.
I checked every half hour and by 9.30 there it was, just about visible to the naked 20:20 eye.
My £350 view in all it’s glory.
Now this fog, thick though it may have been, wasn’t the thickest fog I had experienced during the week.
No, the title of “Fog of the Week” went to an unexpected cloud which descended upon our offices on the Monday lunchtime.
Someone from the Mumbia Corporation had given licence to a likely ill-educated local to approach any buildings in the area without prior warning and spray toxic insecticide inside and out.
Sat as I was on the mezzanine level I had to feel my way through the choking fumes, part blinded by the sting of the gas.
All but two of my work colleagues found it very funny. Nobody seemed to be considering the fact that this was likely causing damage to eyes, skin and respiratory system.
As soon as they could tolerate the fumes they went back inside and continued their lunches.
Sue, a wise young lady from our design team and myself decided to stay outside in the relatively fresh Mumbai air in order to give our bronchi and bronchioles at least a fighting chance.
T.I.I. as the phrase goes.
This is India.
Thursday 8 January 2009
Transcript from an Indian phone call
The following is a composite transcript of numerous calls I have received, the core content of which I am sure is familiar to any ex-pat in India.
The phone rings and the ex-pat answers (my part is italicised for ease of explanation)
Hello. (phone voice)
Hello.
Hello! (welcoming voice)
Hello.
Hello? (questioning voice)
Hello.
Helloooo (haunting voice)
Hello.
Haylo! (comedy high pitched voice)
Hello.
Heeeelaaah. (sinister voice)
Hello
Aaaargh! Look Dude, you called me. Agreed?
Ergo, you must have an idea of who I am whereas I have absolutely no idea of who you are.
So, are you going to tell me who is calling or are we going to continue this pointless conversation ad infinitum hmmm?
Hello.
Click, crash……… (Sound of disengaged blackberry being thrown across room in frustration)
The phone rings and the ex-pat answers (my part is italicised for ease of explanation)
Hello. (phone voice)
Hello.
Hello! (welcoming voice)
Hello.
Hello? (questioning voice)
Hello.
Helloooo (haunting voice)
Hello.
Haylo! (comedy high pitched voice)
Hello.
Heeeelaaah. (sinister voice)
Hello
Aaaargh! Look Dude, you called me. Agreed?
Ergo, you must have an idea of who I am whereas I have absolutely no idea of who you are.
So, are you going to tell me who is calling or are we going to continue this pointless conversation ad infinitum hmmm?
Hello.
Click, crash……… (Sound of disengaged blackberry being thrown across room in frustration)
Efficiency
Q. How many Indians does it take to change a light bulb?
A. I don’t know.
Though I am sure if one needed changing and I were to phone the office manager to report the situation, then she would pass my message to the relevant executive, who would then start the assessment process by ordering the handyman to inspect said inoperational bulb.
Once the report had been filed, the second stage assessment would then hopefully result in a confirmation message to procurement to proceed with the purchase of a light bulb.
Once the bulb had been purchased and the receipts thrice carbon copied, an instruction to install would be issued to the handyman, who would then likely arrive with his Junior and have the whole process overseen by a senior level company executive.
It is highly likely that at this stage the present party would realise the purchased bulb does not match the socket fitting.
The process would then be repeated.
Please note, this systematic process applies equally to making a cup of tea, getting a glass of water, or even purchasing a cellphone.
Indeed, it took 2x drivers, 1x CFO, 1x HR Executive, an Office Manager and myself to procure a Blackberry handset from the Vodafone shop.
Efficiency is most certainly not in the Indian lexicon.
A. I don’t know.
Though I am sure if one needed changing and I were to phone the office manager to report the situation, then she would pass my message to the relevant executive, who would then start the assessment process by ordering the handyman to inspect said inoperational bulb.
Once the report had been filed, the second stage assessment would then hopefully result in a confirmation message to procurement to proceed with the purchase of a light bulb.
Once the bulb had been purchased and the receipts thrice carbon copied, an instruction to install would be issued to the handyman, who would then likely arrive with his Junior and have the whole process overseen by a senior level company executive.
It is highly likely that at this stage the present party would realise the purchased bulb does not match the socket fitting.
The process would then be repeated.
Please note, this systematic process applies equally to making a cup of tea, getting a glass of water, or even purchasing a cellphone.
Indeed, it took 2x drivers, 1x CFO, 1x HR Executive, an Office Manager and myself to procure a Blackberry handset from the Vodafone shop.
Efficiency is most certainly not in the Indian lexicon.
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