Dilemma

Going to a superstores once a month is something I look forward.
The stores is a famous one - the first departmental stores in town. It has an enviable location, is spacious and has courteous staff. Its sections on three floors are full of goods. Many people, even men, make it a point to visit it regularly.
The stores has kept abreast of all the latest changes in retail industry. It allots shelf space to particular brands of tea, coffee, honey and other eats. It has promotion schemes every month. The merchandise changes constantly. For every item, many brands are displayed and by reading the labels carefully, one has to really decide.
Many people have the impression that its merchandise is costly. I do not think so. I have recently had occasion to compare its price with that of an established, old type 'kirana' shop. The 'kirana' shop price was well ahead!
In spite of all this, I find that after I come home, our dry garbage can is, within no time, full of plastic wraps and paper cartons of things I have bought. Their volume surprises me every time. Inevitable I suppose for the 'Look and choose' policy of the stores.
I have begun to see a direct conflict between my enjoyment and environment degradation. What to do?

Teachers' day

We stayed in a small town for a year. I had to do a lot of adjustment as the school syllabus was very different. On the positive side was a drawing class that took place once a week. My old school did not have any.
A new drawing teacher joined the school late. He wore very thick eyeglasses. He was middle-aged and was very reticent. he made us do free-hand drawing and then gave a design which had to be filled with water colours on the weekend and brought to the next class.
The work intrigued me.  Mixing colours, applying them on paper was very exciting but the work left me exhausted. I was clumsy.
Few students had completed this beautiful assignment. The teacher gazed at my painting for a long time and said, "You have applied colour very thickly as if it were oil paint. Also you have used yellow and black close to each other. That is not done."
The painting that he held out before the class was that of a boy who had used very pale colours. It did not impress me one bit. I also did not understand Sir's logic.
I have started dabbling a little in painting now and it has taken me a year to understand the flow and beauty of water colours. I realize now that water colours must be transparent, lightly applied and allowed to run. Every time I look at some water colour painting, I remember my teacher.
On Teachers' day, I remember him but not many other teachers.
He left the school before the year was over. He did not talk much. From his demeanor I inferred straightened conditions at home. How much did art-teachers get in those days? Getting a permanent job and supporting a family must have been difficult.
Looking back, I feel he understood the mystery of art and did his best to initiate us raw yokels into it. I do not remember his name. I have no means to trace him but he has left an indelible mark on me. 

Quality of life

Time was when summer was marked by a number of mango pickles and jams made at home. Along with the regular pickle, there were different types of 'chhunda's and 'takku's. The chhunda made after grated raw mangoes were kept in the hot Sun for a few days was mouth watering. The chili powder gave it an inviting orange-red colour. The pickle had to last for a whole year and it had a special glass container. 'Sakharamba' and 'gulamba' were favourite sweet jellies.
Fewer and fewer people left at home and so the quantity of these has become very small. This year I could get good (or so I thought) raw mangoes in May and all the above varieties were made. We kept them out for a few days and then put them in the refrigerator fearing that they would be spoilt otherwise.
Takku which tasted divine when made had to be thrown away the other day. It had got fermented in the refrigerator. Chhunda also spoils quickly no matter how much seasoning you do in the Sun. Oil is used liberally in the pickle and yet it gets covered in fungus if left outside the refrigerator for a few days. Sugar in the 'sakharamba' got crystallised in no time at all.

What is happening?

Tomatoes do not taste sweet. Vegetables look fresh but are not tasty. I cannot eat many fruit.

The politics of garbage

Time was when rag pickers were the lowest of the lowly urban poor. It was hard to find an adult male among them. Women and children made up their ranks.

Garbage collection has now become organized. NGOs of rag pickers have been set up for collection of garbage from housing societies. Men are visible in garbage collection and processing now that it has become a visible and even important activity involving interaction with the well off. Men are crowding out women and children.

 Local municipalities are trying to get away from this work. Dumping collected garbage at some far away spot is not possible any more as violent protests are made by the locals. So citizens are asked to segregate wet and dry garbage themselves and housing societies are expected to treat their own wet garbage.

Bigger housing societies must start carrying out this work immediately. Otherwise municipal authorities levy a big fine.

Our society is small and so the above rule does not apply to us right now. Still, as a part of planning and adopting possible best practices, we have set up a vermi-composting plant for wet garbage in our society. It is not cheap and so other members were not interested. The office bearers of the society persevered and the plant became operational from 1^st August 2019. The day-time watchman has been trained to process the wet garbage in it every day and his salary has been hiked for this additional work.

The NGO that picked up society garbage was not amused. “You have suddenly stopped our collection. We will tell the supervisor and he will call on you”, its collectors threatened.

Members of the society do not segregate waste properly. The watchman has to do the segregation himself. So rubber gloves were issued to him. However, the person who collects the garbage by going from door to door is another fellow. He comes every morning and his wife sweeps the premises. The watchman was asked to give a pair of gloves each to them.

Two days ago, I saw the garbage collector working with only one glove.

“Where is the other glove?” I asked him.

“The watchman has kept it with him in his cabin and cannot find it.”

“Nonsense! Tell him to give it to you immediately.”

On the second day also the sweeper came with only one glove. I told the Chairman about this and requested him to fire the watchman. I called him up and asked him to give me the sweeper’s gloves. He showed them to me and promised to hand them over the next morning.

“I will do that.” I told him but he protested.

Today the sweeper came with gloves on both his hands and he was looking happy. His wife is yet to get her pair though. Then we want to issue face masks to them and are prepared for another round of feet dragging over it. The watchman has been told that new gloves will be given to him as soon as the present ones wear out but his stinginess and guile know no bounds.

Back in 1985 I participated in a public information experiment by a well-known public health NGO – FRCH. Pamphlets were prepared to give information to villagers about various welfare schemes of the government from which they could benefit. The free pamphlets were distributed directly, through postmen, village Sarpanch (chief of village local body) etc. to the villagers. It was found that these middlemen just sat over the pamphlets and did not issue them. They made it out to be some big, confidential matter and demanded a large sum of money before handing them over.

Designing programs for the down-trodden is one thing. Ensuring that they actually reach the intended beneficiaries is an altogether different proposition. Implementation therefore remains a big problem.

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Household accounts

Yesterday was 1^st of August. The day for turning the pages of calendars and the morning devoted to writing up household accounts. All cash expenses incurred in the last month have been religiously entered in a notebook. Bank transactions, card payments are noted by me separately in my diary.

The first step is to find out the cash on hand as per the notebook and the balance actually on hand – kept in an old black purse, a pouch and a red plastic box for coins. Cash on hand is short by Rs. 748.

I report the matter to my mother, Amma.

“Ah, I paid Rs. 750 to the gardener on 30.7. That explains the difference.”

“Why did you not enter the amount in the notebook?”

“The gardener was paid on 6.7. After that he has come only twice. He is to be paid only in the next fortnight.”

“Then why did you pay him?”

“I don’t know. He asked for it and I paid him and then realized my mistake.”

“But the point is that cash outgo has taken place. So you should have recorded it.”

“I suppose so.”

I alter my calculations and sure enough, there is a difference of only Rs.8. I am not Gandhiji and so I am not going to investigate this difference. However, I am overjoyed. This is the first time the book figure and the actual are so close. Usually there are wide differences and they are mainly due to Amma who has stashed money at different places in her cupboard and merrily takes it out and mixes it with house cash in the name of getting ‘chhutta’. She will never admit it though.

My accounting system is elaborate. The above – the notebook and my diary – are primary records of day-to-day transactions. The secondary record is classified just like a ledger. It has separate groups for groceries, milk, ready-to-eat items, medicines, newspapers, stationery and books, clothes, repairs etc. Whenever there is need to check some past expense, Amma keeps going through the notebook and is unable to locate the expense in spite of spending a long time. My classified system gives quick answers.

I have used it in my class of Personal Income and Wealth Management course and I have appealed to students to use it in their homes. Wonder how many would bother. Some students staying in hostels had assured me that they noted all their expenses. Nobody is going to enter them in a diary but a record on the phone or laptop is easy. Factual information about expenditure is necessary for expenditure control which in turn is necessary for wealth creation.

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My long stint at Ness Wadia College of Commerce

College and its surroundings

I have spent four decades in the college – four years as a student and thirty seven as a teacher. It was a very long, almost continuous association during which I witnessed quite a few transformations of the college.

It began as a small, late starter in a corner of the campus which belonged to Nowrosjee Wadia College really. Cusrow Wadia institute had a different culture and a different type of students. Ness Wadia building was no patch on the imposing, stone edifice of Nowrosjee Wadia College. Staff members of Nowrosjee Wadia College looked down upon both teachers and students of Ness Wadia College initially. Among other commerce colleges in Pune also, it stood apart because of the Wadia tag. Cosmopolitan atmosphere, emphasis on sports and outdoors, a high level of spoken English and a happy-go-lucky attitude were noticeable features of Wadia ethos. It was a part of the culture of eastern Pune, particularly Pune cantonment area. There used to be a huge cultural divide between west and east Pune then. Pune, the seat of Peshwas and the focal point of Marathi culture was actually west Pune.

Today, Ness Wadia College has overtaken Nowrosjee Wadia College in terms of number of students and activities carried out. The profile of teachers and students has changed so much today that it is like any other college in Pune. The ‘hep’ crowd has perhaps moved on to private universities. The level of English has declined and other languages such as Persian, Urdu, Sindhi, and Gujarati etc. have disappeared from the commerce course. Given the internal and external changes to which the university system has been subject since 1970, this result was probably inevitable.

One incident, way back in 1985 is etched in my memory. While waiting in a queue at Silver Jubilee petrol pump to fill petrol in my scooter, I heard two gentlemen ahead talking of college admissions. One confidently told the other: “Send your son to Ness Wadia College. It has excellent faculty. Your son will do well.” This was praise indeed and it made me very happy.

Commerce was not treated as an academic faculty in the 1960s and 1970s. So much so that the university of Pune opened its commerce department only in the 21^st century. However, today it is the preferred undergraduate course. Nonetheless, attendance of students is a big problem in all commerce college because the syllabi and examinations are pretty simple. Ness Wadia College has one distinction: attendance by students has generally been good. This is more so after a new building and an open air theatre were added to the college campus.

What Commerce syllabus lacks in depth is perhaps made up for by its constant revision. Practicals were introduced in early 1980s and subject syllabi have been regularly updated. The latest change introduced by the university is credit-based post-graduate courses. These keep M.Com. teachers and students on their toes. By and large, these changes have been beneficial.

My contribution

My first year as a teacher in the college was disastrous. I simply did not have the confidence that is necessary to make simple points in a loud voice and a no-nonsense approach before students. I watched with despair as my students turned to the next classroom where a more experienced teacher taught the same subject. The misery I endured then led to a resolution to try my best to become a good teacher. As a commerce teacher, I could easily move among diverse subjects such as cost accounting, business administration, business management, strategic management, communication and secretarial practice etc. This and syllabi revisions helped me keep boredom away and then there was research.

Over the years, my observations and reading helped me crystallize some principles. The first principle is that academic and administrative work are different. Teachers must concentrate on the former. There is an acute shortage of good teachers while administrators are many. It is difficult to be a good teacher rather than a good administrator. (Ironically, I taught Business Administration for a number of years.) A good teacher has to work hard continuously on his/her own.

The second principle is that academics must have an upper hand over administration. All the great educational institutions, be they Oxford and Cambridge, Ivy League colleges and IITs and IIMs ensure that academic considerations have the final say. In other words, teachers must be the final arbiters in syllabus formation, conduct of examinations and results. There are many non-academic pressures on teachers but they must be countered. This I tried to do to some extent. The idea was to spread the message that merit matters, that students have to work, have to be sincere, honest and that they do not get anything free. The pressure to pass all students at the end of the year has now become enormous. This makes a mockery of education.

I paid a price in terms of isolation to implement these simple principles. Looking back, I am happy that I did so.

Teachers and classroom teaching matter even today. By observing the teacher, students imbibe many values. I have seen that B.Com. and M.Com. students have little confidence. They think BBA and MBA students are much smarter than them. Students must be able to interpret the world around them on the basis of the knowledge and the tools that they have been given in the college. This is not happening and it is a major failure of commerce faculty.

As I look back today at my college career, I have fond memories of the college library, S.Y.’D’ classes, practicals of Business Communication, project reports of M.Com. and of course, my own room on the top storey of the old building. Free access to all books and magazines in the library and permission to order books were a privilege which is sorely missed in retirement. These memories allow me to look back on my teaching career with some satisfaction.   

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The Gods must be crazy!

That is the title of a popular 1980's film. An African tribal finds an empty, plastic water bottle and not understanding what it is, knows that he must get rid of this stellar object. He travels on foot to a distant valley and throws the bottle away in its awesome waterfall. He sees and experiences many weird things on his way. They include a brief spell in a prison. He does not understand what a prison is and spends all his time in the cell in watching the sky from its tiny window. He refuses to eat. Seeing this an American young scientist persuades the warlords to free him or else to have the blood of an innocent man on their hands.
I had not heard of this movie at all. Imagine my pleasure when I chanced upon it on an idle afternoon when I was clicking TV channels at random. I decided to give the movie 5 minutes and stayed glued to the TV set till it was over. Oh! What an enjoyable time it was!
I remembered the movie again because in the labour camp behind our building, there is a new worker who keeps gazing at the nearby tree-tops, the sky and the birds whenever he is out of his tiny shed. He reminds me of the tribal from The Gods must be crazy.
The surroundings of our society are getting commercialized very fast. The bungalow on the right had made way for a four- storey building. A regular office has started on the third storey and work is going on in other parts. The construction workers and security guards stay in make shift sheds on an open plot behind our building.
These are tiny tin sheds. After 2/ 3 instances of rain-induced wall collapses recently, the sheds have been somewhat fortified. There is minimum furniture. One shed boasts of a bed. Ropes have been put up to hang washed clothes.
It rains heavily nowadays and otherwise it is hot. In this tropical climate, there are plenty of birds, butterflies but also insects and creepies and crawlies about.
The workers make light of these difficulties and go about their business punctually without any fuss. There is minimum conversation among them though. There are 7 or 8 of them around. Until recently, there were just 4. Half of them have mobile phones. There is electricity. They appear to be content.
I watch them. When they carry on so well with so little, do I have a right to feel bored?