Tuesday, July 24, 2012

In-corruptible in the absence of law.

Why should we refrain from corruption?

Is it because of legal consequences? Or is it because of being wary of  pissing off some supernatural being who monitors our every deed?

Or is it simply because we know it is ethically the right thing to do?

Corruption is a major factor impeding economic development in developing countries, but the importance of legal enforcement versus cultural norms in controlling corruption is poorly understood. In 2006 a simple study was undertaken to understand cultural attitudes towards corruption. And what better place than the United Nations, where  thousands of diplomats from more than 146 countries have immunity. Which also means they cannot be arrested or served warrants for traffic offences. Offenders are expected to pay fines and penalties voluntarily.

This gave an excellent opportunity for Ray Fisman and Edward Miguel to study attitudes of individuals towards the law when it's enforcement was absent.
The act of parking illegally fits remarkably well with a standard definition of corruption, i.e., “the abuse of entrusted power for private gain,”2 suggesting that the comparison of parking violations by diplomats from different societies serves as a credible measure of the extent of corruption cultural norms.
The findings were interesting. Some societies have a much casual attitude towards corruption and these attitudes reflected in the results. 

Between 1992 and 2002 Kuwait ranked the highest with 246.2 unpaid parking tickets per diplomat, they had 9 diplomats. Pakistan was ranked 10th,  India was way below at 79th with 6.1 tickets for 18 diplomats.

What was most interesting was diplomats from countries with low corruption rates had lower number of unpaid parking tickets and diplomats behaved in almost the same manner as government  officials in their home country. 

I believe that our cultures mould our attitudes towards corruption. No amount of laws can change attitudes. Attitudes  can only be changed with awareness and education. 


Controlling corruption with legal enforcement without change in the attitudes will be infeasible for developing nations. 


The full research paper is available from  here. Cultures of Corruption: Evidence from Diplomatic Parking Tickets









Thursday, March 01, 2012

Running the last leg.

Yesterday started quite unusually for me. On February 28th, I had to visit my GP. The entire week had been stressful due to the so-called "Entrance Exam" for the 7th grade for my 12-year-old son. I had to be at the school by 9 a.m. on February 29th. My body responded to all this stress by raising my blood pressure a few notches above the usual. The doctor advised me to take a break and relax. Sure, why not?

That day, February 29, 2012, would become the most eventful day of my life—and the life of a three-year-old boy named Justin.

I excused myself from the usual ritualistic Sharjah-to-Dubai bumper-to-bumper traffic and took the E611 highway to Dubai. I managed to get Suhail to his exam exactly three minutes before it started.

12:10 p.m.: Suhail's exam went well. I drove him back to Sharjah and we reached home around 1:20 p.m. We live in a first-floor apartment in a nine-story building. I was about to have lunch with my son when the lady next door rang the doorbell and timidly asked if I had heard any strange noises or screaming from my bedroom toilet. I quickly went to the toilet and opened the small window that leads to the air vent. A gust of smoke entered the room, and I heard a faint scream. My heart froze. I immediately knew that someone above us was in distress, but it was impossible to determine which floor. We rushed downstairs to the lobby and informed the watchman. I asked Suhail to stay on the ground floor while I took the elevator to the ninth floor and then descended the emergency stairs, checking each floor for signs of smoke.

The fire had broken out in a sixth-floor apartment, which has the same layout as our apartment on the first floor—a critical piece of information that would be helpful later on.

Smoke was billowing out through the door into the corridor, reducing visibility to about a foot in front. By then, a few more men had arrived and managed to break open the door, which was bent out of shape from the intense heat.

I knew the location of the CO2 cylinder near the emergency exit and, more importantly, I knew how to identify and use it. (Thanks to those day-long Civil Defense awareness campaigns held at Abu Dhabi Indian School back in 1988.) Some men had dragged an elderly woman out into the corridor. She was half-conscious and covered in soot, but she was alive. Someone was uncoiling the fire hose and turning on the water line. I instructed him to stop, as the power supply to the apartment was still on, which would only exacerbate the situation. I pushed him aside, took hold of the black CO2 cylinder, and dragged it over to the door, possibly stepping over the poor woman on the floor.

Smoke and soot were pouring from the room. The men who had come to help were leaving, coughing and dragging the unconscious woman away from the smoke and fumes. I was running out of breath and felt my lungs compressing. Images of my mother flashed through my head (she had extinguished a similar fire 20 years ago in Abu Dhabi). I was suddenly overcome with extraordinary strength, like the surge I used to get when running the last leg of those 400-meter relay races back in high school. I entered the doorway; flames were emanating from a sofa in the center of the living room, reaching about two meters into the air. The rest of the room was filled with thick smoke. I aimed the nozzle at the base of the flames and squeezed the trigger, releasing some of the foam onto the fire. I couldn't stay there much longer—I was out of breath and my heart was pounding. Images of my children, Hannah Maya and Suhail, flashed before me. For a moment, I doubted whether I was really doing any of this. I collapsed onto the floor, where the air was clearer, and took a deep breath, though some soot entered my mouth and I choked. The air was stale but felt sweeter. I helped the men drag the woman back to the stairway. More people had arrived, and we hurried down to the ground floor.

We laid the woman on the ground, and I slumped down. Someone brought me a bottle of water, but I don’t remember if I took a sip. The woman was mumbling something in Malayalam—"Child" or "Children."

Oh no! There was still a child in the apartment!

She then said, "Bathroom!" I didn’t have the strength to take the stairs again. Two men joined me, and we took the elevator back to the sixth floor. Yes, I know you shouldn’t take the elevator during a fire—try telling that to my legs.

I removed my shirt and covered my mouth and face. I asked the men with me to do the same. I told them we had to search the bathrooms as quickly as possible. The only source of light was our mobile phones. The elevator doors opened, and I took a deep breath and raced towards the apartment. The power had already been turned off, and it was pitch dark. The flames had subsided, but the fumes were thicker than before. It felt like I was diving underwater; I could hear my heartbeat. The mild illumination from our mobile phones was just that—mild. The apartment had the same layout as mine on the first floor, so I didn’t need light to navigate. I stooped lower to breathe the pockets of clearer air that seemed to form within the smoke clouds. I opened the guest bathroom door—nothing. The morbid fear of finding the charred remains of a child did cross my mind, but I was there to do a job: find the child, dead or alive. I went into the master bedroom’s attached bathroom. The door was slightly open but blocked by something soft.

The limp body of a child was wedged behind the door. I grabbed and picked him up by his leg. As soon as I lifted him, the child urinated—he was alive, but unconscious. I held on to him and stood there. My lungs were completely depleted of oxygen. I had nothing left to breathe and no strength, but a strange sense of calm washed over me. I couldn’t hear anything. I saw vivid colors like 32-bit HDR splashing around me. I imagined the crowds cheering in Sheikh Zayed Stadium, the white parallel lanes on rubberized tracks, and I heard the panting breath and rhythmic footsteps of runners behind me. A voice inside told me, "Nishad, the last 80 meters is just a few leaps away. Don’t drop that aluminum baton, boy; we’re almost there." I saw the thin white ribbon at the finish line and kept going. But I wasn’t running; I was just holding on to my heart, trying not to give up. I moved toward the open door, holding the child close. I stumbled to the stairway and took a deep breath of fresh air. The men pulled me into the elevator. I thought I’d rather die climbing down the stairs than be stuck in a smoky elevator. The entire rescue must have taken two minutes or less, but it felt like an hour—a suffocating, near-death struggle.

I reached the ground floor and laid the child on the floor. He was struggling to breathe, his eyes rolled back. I held his nose and breathed into his open mouth. His chest rose and fell. I repeated this until the child coughed and spat out thick, black sputum. I sighed in relief and collapsed to my side. Some neighbors held the child, keeping his head to the side while I helped him breathe. I saw a crowd had gathered. Some were calling emergency services, others were taking pictures. The police had already arrived, clearing the crowd. Civil Defense and Ambulance services arrived within minutes and took the child, along with me and a neighbor, to the nearest trauma center. The elderly woman was taken in a separate ambulance.

We arrived at the hospital, and the waiting emergency team whisked the child away. I was deeply moved and overwhelmed with tears of happiness, knowing he was in safe hands. I was sure he would be fine now. I didn’t know his name or his parents, but the authorities assured me they would handle everything. They asked me to go home and rest; I looked like I had just stepped out of a coal mine. I was trembling, and my blood pressure was probably sky-high.

Before I left, I was allowed to see him in the ICU. As of now, the child is out of danger and is breathing on his own, though with some difficulty. The woman is in a slightly worse condition, with breathing difficulties. The child’s parents wept and embraced me like I was some kind of savior. I’m not used to such displays of emotion, but I found myself weeping along with them. I was overcome by a strange feeling of accomplishment—an achievement I will surely cherish for the rest of my life.

Amid all this commotion, I had completely forgotten about my blood pressure, the headache I had been complaining about, and the minor back pain I had the day before.

I still don’t know many details of how I managed to do any of the things I did. I don’t even know if most of it happened in the order I’ve described. Everything is just a cloudy memory. Most of what I’ve written here is from what others told me about my actions. Friends and neighbors gathered later that evening and recounted what happened and how I did those things. I still don’t know if I really did any of it.

All I can clearly remember is entering the smoldering apartment, running a 400-meter relay race, and coming back with an aluminum baton that I would never let go of.


Monday, February 13, 2012

Exploring the ancient Stone huts in Wadi Bih

Stone house on the Mountain, Wadi Bih RAK
Stone house on the Mountain, Wadi Bih RAK,  probably recently constructed. Visible from the main road. 
After almost a year of lethargic inactivity, yesterday I decided to explore the mountains of Ras Al Khaimah, where most of the off-road terrain still remain undisturbed by tourists and trekkers. The gently undulating Ophiolite mountains are dotted with the occasional guff (Prosopis cineraria) and Sayyal (Acacia tortillis).

Evidence of ancient  human settlement can still be glimpsed in the remaining cairns and tombstones. According to the  Department of Antiquities, the period of human settlement must have been between BC 5000 to BC500. The closest location to see these stone structures is Wadi Bih, a short drive from Ras Al Khaimah heading East towards the UAE-Oman border. 

Wadi Bih,
The interior of one of the stone huts.  
Wadi Bih, Grave yard
The view from the  ruined stone huts over-looking the graveyard, Wadi bih
The Hajjar Mountain Range  peaks in Musandam in Oman  and extends south through the UAE back into Oman, forming a natural  demarcation  between Oman and UAE.  This mountain  has contributed a most essential resource in the massive construction boom in UAE.  Every grain of sand for those skyscrapers and bridges and every rock dropped in the Gulf  to form all those islands owe their existence to these majestic mountains.

The Building material
Ophiolite Mountain Wadi Bih
Ophiolite Mountain in Bih. 
Notice the straight cuts that can be easily used 
for construction.

Ophiolite
Ophiolite mountain in Musandum, Oman
Having seen and photographed several ophiolite mountains in Oman and UAE I can appreciate the importance of this fundamental civil engineering resource which was skilfully employed by the early settlers to this region.

Periodic volcanic eruptions and subsequent ash fall-out over the cooling lava forms several sequential layers of deposits. Seismic plate movements have pushed the Hajjar higher and formed these wrinkels in the rock.  The layered outcrops have softer shale and soil deposits sandwiched between rock which forms natural straight cuts when cracked open. The stones used in building the cairn and cabins have these natural straight cuts that are of similar thickness.


Wadi Bih General View
General View of the area explored. Wadi Bih
Several cairn can be seen along the road in Wadi Bih. Although some of these appear to be  constructed  quite recently, there are still a few ancient ones deep in the valleys.

There seems to be some agreement on the purpose of these structures among the  locals who assert that these were constructed as winter homes.  I did observe four large rectangular stone huts (approx 2.5m by 2m). All of them had lintels  over the doorway to support a roof. Remains of long broken stone (beams?)  were seen inside the hut, suggesting a roof collapse.


 The smaller Stone Structures
Wadi Bih, Small stone structures 1
Another small stone structure  approx. 160cm X 90cm
Although The larger structures do appear to be stone cabins, what fascinated me most was the smaller structures (1mX1m ) which seemed too small for any practical use. Identical in form and stone setting and lintels over the doorway.

Wadi Bih, Small stone structures 1
Small structure with lintel over the opening.
Size approx.120cm X 80cm.
The stone huts were overlooking a graveyard with about a few dozen graves. These settlements were clearly  pre-islamic since many of these graves faced the West rather than towards Mecca.

So it can be safely assumed that the smaller structures were not meant to be graves for the commoner. Perhaps these could be places to worship or abode for the spirits of the recently deceased. I could not find any excavation reports or studies conducted on these small structures, like those conducted on the more popular Hili and Shimal tombs.

Wadi Bih is close to Ras Al Khaimah and poses the risk of being over-run by "development". It's fragile natural tranquillity may not remain undisturbed for long. Many stone quarries operate in Ras al Khaimah and several new roads are being constructed to quicken the pace of dismantling the mountains to make high-rise buildings in the city. The abandoned villages and any remaining traces of ancient human settlements may be completely lost to future generations.

Sunday, January 08, 2012

ജയചന്ദ്രന്റെ വക കൊലവെറി.


നൂറിലേറെ  ഹോളിവുഡ് ഹോറർ ചിത്രങ്ങളിൽ അഭിനയിച്ച് നടനാണു ബെല്ല ലുഗോസി. ലുഗോസിയുടേ ശോഭയും സാമ്പത്തും മങ്ങി തുടങ്ങിയതോടെ ഹോളിവുഡ്ഡിലെ ഏറ്റവും മോശം  സംവിധായകൻ എന്നറിയപ്പെടുന്ന എഡ് വൂഡ് ജുനിയർന്റെ സിനിമകളിൽ അഭിനയിക്കേണ്ട ഗതികേടു വന്നു.


അമൃത ടി വി യുടെ പാട്ടു പരുപാടിയുടേ  പരസ്യത്തിനു വേണ്ടി "Why this kolaveri di" എന്ന പാട്ടിനെ ചൊല്ലി  ശ്രീ ജയചന്ദ്രൻ  അവതരിപ്പിക്കുന്ന കൃതൃമ വിവാദവും ഏതാണ്ടു് അതേ പോലെയാണു.
കൊലവെറി എന്ന പാട്ടിനെ ചൊല്ലി ഒരു വിവാദം ഉണ്ടാക്കി പ്രേക്ഷകരെ വിളിച്ചുകൂട്ടാനുള്ള ഈ പരിപാടി വളരെ തന്ത്രപരമായി ആസൂത്രണം ചെയ്തതാണു എന്നു എനിക്ക് തോന്നുന്നു.

വരാൻ പോകുന്ന പരിപാടിയുടേ promo ആയിട്ടാണു ഈ രംഗം അമൃത ടിവി കാണിക്കുന്നതു്.


  • Frame 1. പാട്ടു് ആരംഭിക്കുന്നു. (ഇതിനു മുമ്പ് lightഉം ശബ്ദവും ഒക്കെ test ചെയ്തു് ചിലപ്പോൾ rehearsalഉം check ചെയ്തിട്ടുണ്ടാകും) 
  • Frame 2. ജയചന്ദ്രൻ ആശ്ചര്യത്തോടെ എടം വലം നോക്കുന്നു. ആസനത്തിൽ കുരുപോട്ടിയതുപോലെ കസേരയിൽ ഇരുനു നിരങ്ങുന്നു. 
  • Frame 3: പാട്ടു തുടരുന്നു.
  • Frame 4: "ഇതാര പാടൻ പറഞ്ഞതു്? ഞാൻ പോകുവ" അങ്ങനെ  യാതൊരു originalityയും ഇല്ലാത്ത അഭിനയം കാഴ്ചവെച്ചുകൊണ്ടു ജയചന്ദ്രൻ എഴുനേറ്റു് പോകുന്നു. സംഘാടകർ അദ്ദേഹത്തെ പറഞ്ഞു സമാധാനിപ്പിക്കാൻ ശ്രമിക്കുന്നു. Heart beat effect with quick cuts > Signature frame > end. 


ഇതുപോലെ പണ്ടു WWF (World Wrestling Federation)ന്റെ  പതിനായിരക്കണക്കിനു നാടക പരിപാടികൾ കണ്ടിട്ടുണ്ടു്. അതിലൊന്നും ഇത്രയും മോശമായ അഭിനയം കണ്ടിട്ടില്ല. നല്ല പാട്ടുകാരൻ നടൻ ആയിരിക്കണം എന്നു ആരും വാശിപിടിക്കില്ല. പക്ഷെ ഇങ്ങനെ എന്തെങ്കിലും തട്ടി കൂട്ടുമ്പോൾ അതും കൂടി ശ്രദ്ധിക്കണം.

എത്ര നല്ല പാട്ടുകാരനാണു് ശ്രീ ജയചന്ദ്രൻ, അവസാനം പാട്ടിൽ നിന്നുമുള്ള വരുമാനം നിലച്ചപ്പോൾ Amrutha TVയുടേ തറ Marketing planകൾ അനുസരിച്ചു് യുവതലമുറയോടു് പാട്ടു പാടരുതെന്നു (നാടകത്തിൽ കൂടി) പറയേണ്ടി വന്നു. ഒരു കലാകാരനും ഈ ഗതികേടു വരാതിരിക്കട്ടെ.

ഇനി ഇതൊന്നും നാടകം അല്ലായിരുന്നു എന്നു തന്നെ കരുതാം: അവിടെയാണു ഏറ്റവും വലിയ പ്രശ്നം.

കൊലവെറി എന്ന പാട്ടിന്റെ മേന്മയെ കുറിച്ച് പറയാൻ ജയചന്ദ്രൻ തീർച്ചയായും യോഗ്യനാണു്. പാട്ടു അവസാനിച്ച ശേഷം അഭിപ്രായം പ്രകടിപ്പിക്കാമായിരുന്നു. മാർക്ക് കൊടുക്കാതിരിക്കാമായിരുന്നു.  പക്ഷെ ആ പാട്ട് പാടരുതു് എന്നു പറയാൻ ജയചന്ദ്രൻ എന്നുമാത്രമല്ല മലയാള സംഗീതത്തിന്റെ so-called പടച്ചതമ്പുരാൻ ശ്രീ  ഗാനഗന്ധർവ്വനു് പോലും യാതൊരു അധികാരവുമില്ല. ഏതു പാട്ടും എങ്ങനെ വേണമെങ്കിലും പാടാൻ എല്ലാവർക്കും അവകാശമുണ്ടു്. പാടരുതു് എന്നു പറയുന്നതു് ആവിഷ്കാര സ്വാതന്ത്ര്യത്തിന്റെ അടിച്ചമർത്തലാണു, elitism ആണു. Fascism ആണു.

ലോകം മുന്നോട്ടു് പോകുമ്പോൾ കലയേയും സംഗീതത്തേയും പുറകോട്ട് വലിച്ചു കെട്ടാൻ ഇങ്ങനെ കുറെ താപ്പാനകൾ ഉള്ളതാണു കേരളത്തിന്റെ സാംസ്കാരിക ശാപം.

Saturday, January 07, 2012

Letters to the Editor

 (Image courtesty The Wall Street Journal)
To the Editor
The Hindu, Delhi Edition


Okay we both know for a fact that the congress leadership comprises of dim witted sycophants living off of cheap thrills of promos and press ads, but you run one of the few remaining bastions of unbiased journalism that prints objective comentaries in its editorial. The news of course is mostly copy pasted from each other and is probably colder than last weeks McDonalnds fries, but I digress.


A full page front page ad with a blurb sucking up to Sonia Gandhi?  What  came over you guys? Who does that sort of thing? Is Mr. N. Ram still running the show? Don't you have standards to keep even in advertising? I do realize the need for ad revenue to sustain a dying media, but this was a total sell out. 


My rating of respect for your paper has dropped from 4 to 2 (that's out of 10 by the way!). This probably must have been an all time low for a newspaper like yours. I am sure folks will be throwing this shit at you for years to come. Enjoy it.


Cheers.